


precious little thing

by mercutionotromeo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, BDSM, Bottom Harry, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Coming Untouched, Daddy Kink, Daddy Louis, Dirty Talk, Dom Louis, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Finger Sucking, Frottage, Halloween, Kink Discovery, Light Bondage, Louis catches Harry watching porn but I don't know what to tag that as, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Phone Sex, Pining, Spanking, Sub Harry, Top Louis, VAST amounts of dirty talk, but the main three are H L and everybody's fave roommate Niall, phone sex operator louis, there are a few cameos of random characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 21:44:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12541868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutionotromeo/pseuds/mercutionotromeo
Summary: Reason #10 - CuriosityNiall grins deviously and hits “make call”, putting his phone on speaker. They lean in close to peer down at the screen, heads knocking lightly together. Dull rings reverberate quietly around the room and mix with the monotonous buzz of the lights. It rings for a while - maybe six or seven times - then the other line picks up.There’s a slow, steady inhale, and a low voice purrs, “Hi, sexy.”Jesus - this guy has barely said two words, and both of them have made Harry's cock twitch in his jeans. That’s not even getting to what those words are, and why he’s saying them, and how Harry’s stomach is dropping into his shoes at the mere thought of him saying... other words. Words like “cock”, and “please”, and “come”.Also known as: a university AU featuring phone sex operator Louis, copious amounts of sweet, soft kink discovery, and Louis being Harry's Daddy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for clicking on my fic! this is my first time writing for a fic fest, and my first time writing a longer fic that's not just PWP, so I'm so excited to share my work with you! I love writing phone sex operator Louis and I write it a great deal - it's one of my fave tropes. I also love writing Daddy kink and kink discovery, so this work is a mash-up of some of my favorite things! It's relatively short, and the chapters should be easy to get through; I hope you enjoy it! :-) As you'll be able to tell, it's set in the U.K. with the addition of Greek life, as I wanted to include that in the story line. All mistakes are my own, I don't own these characters, and the situations depicted in the work are not reflective of real-life events. Enjoy! :-)
> 
> [title: my winding wheel by ryan adams]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter one of six!

“ _Haz_. C’mon, this is boring as all hell.”

Harry sighs, squinting down at his textbook with sleep-heavy eyes. The words are practically blurring together.

“What would you suggest we do, Niall?” He asks as calmly as he can manage. “We’re in a library, not a bloody club.”

Niall groans and flops back onto the armchair he’s been sitting in for the last six hours. It’s half-past 4 o’clock in the morning during what’s technically the first day of midterm exams week, and they’re the only ones left in the fine arts section of the library. Not that Harry minds, of course - Niall’s his best mate, he couldn’t pick a better person to pass the time with.

“Just sayin’. Studies show that taking lots of breaks actually helps you learn _more,_ y’know,” Niall points out, like he’s some kind of expert on the subject.

“Oh yeah? And where would those studies be from? The Horan Institute of Productivity?” Harry shoots back, not taking his eyes off his textbook.

Niall huffs and curls up in the chair. “ _Wanker_.”

As luck would have it, not only are Harry and Niall both graphic design majors, but they’re also wallmates - all the way up on the fourth floor of their flat-style residence hall. They’ve become fast friends, even though Niall is drunk more often than he is sober, and Harry has a penchant for weeping to romantic comedies in the living room.

Still, they’ve suffered through a whole month of Art History 201 together, and that's enough to build a friendship between _anyone_. Unfortunately for their GPA’s, too many late nights (at the bars for Niall, and on the couch for Harry) have put them both far behind in their studying. As a result, they’re stuck struggling to memorize the artists of almost 100 paintings from the Baroque period on the night before their first big exam.

Niall groans loudly again and digs in his backpack, fishing out his flask for the sixth time in an hour. It’s a graduation gift from his granddad - heavy and steely, like Horan men are supposed to be. Niall, of course, had it immediately bedazzled with a four-leaf-clover because he is - to put it lightly -  _painfully_ Irish.

“Niall, you know whiskey isn’t going to help you study,” Harry reminds him tersely as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Not whiskey. Vodka,” Niall says with a belch.

Harry makes a face. “Even worse.” The difference between the art stylings of Aleijadinho and Artemisia Gentileschi is only getting foggier, and his headache’s getting worse. God, he needs to sleep.

Niall claps his hands too loudly, the noise echoing around the room above the buzz of the fluorescent lights. “Ooh! Let’s get a takeaway!” He suggests brightly, and Harry shifts his gaze pointedly to the family-sized bag of Cheetos on the table. It’s leaning against a 2-litre of Mountain Dew and a ridiculously large tub of Quality Street chocolates.

“So no takeaway,” Niall gathers, deflating.

“No takeaway,” Harry confirms.

Niall groans and rubs his eyes, taking another swig from his flask. A minute passes as Harry mindlessly flips through his notes, barely even reading the words he’s scrawled in the margins. There's no way he'll be able to remember all of this. His brain is, like, actively rejecting the material at this point. In his peripheral vision, Niall snaps his fingers and stands abruptly.

“Got it. Let’s TP the university president’s house.” Harry rolls his eyes, sighing because Niall is clearly more than tipsy; his minor vandalistic tendencies only emerge when he’s well and truly drunk.

“ _No_ , Niall. We’re not going to TP the president of the university during Midterms Week. We don’t have the toilet paper to waste on that.”

Niall groans in disappointment and plops back into his chair.

“Rembrandt painted The Three Crosses?” Harry murmurs confusedly to himself, lost in a sea of art history that’s only blending together as the hours pass. It's like the fluorescent lights overhead are buzzing louder, just to spite him.

A second later, Niall pops back up with a devious smile on his face. “I know!” He’s grinning like a maniac, like this must be the best idea of all time. As Niall’s ideas go, that usually means it’s the worst. “I’ve really got it this time. Let’s prank call someone.”

Harry groans and puts his head on the desk, the cool wood easing his tension headache. “Why do all of these ideas sound like they’re from a 12-year-old girl’s sleepover?”

Niall waves his hand dismissively. “No, no, Haz - I promise it’ll be fun. I’ll even take the fall - we’ll just scroll through my old contacts until we find someone fun, then we’ll take the piss out of 'em.”

Harry must look uncertain because Niall grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him a little. “C’mon, mate. I _know_ you never did this in year 10 - live a little! Stop being the guy who hides behind his textbooks and never has fun." He throws his hands up, exasperated. "I mean, Christ, Haz... If not for that, then at least do it for the curiosity.”

Well. If Niall is anything while he’s drunk, it’s convincing.

“Fine.”

With that, Niall claps his hands in glee and unlocks his phone, pulling up his contacts. “We can even put on fake accents - look, I’ll be from Holmes Chapel,” He drawls in a bad imitation of Harry’s accent. Harry rolls his eyes and watches as Niall starts scrolling through his truly enormous list of contacts.

Niall shuts his eyes and scrolls through the thousands of names. “Say stop when you want me to pick one.” Harry waits a second, then makes him stop. His thumb lands on somebody called Nancy. Niall shakes his head, face suddenly soft and affectionate. “Nah. Can’t do her, she’s my old neighbor from back home. About 80 years old now - she won’t hear half of what we say anyway.”

Next is a Nick, with the last name put in as - interestingly enough - Grindr. Niall goes red and doesn’t acknowledge it, just keeps running through the endless list of names; Harry takes pity on him and doesn’t press further.

Finally, they land on a rather intriguing contact with “Private” for the first name and “Business” for the last name. They both squint at it curiously for a second, then Niall suddenly bursts into raucous laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asks, unimpressed and actually wishing he was still studying Rembrandt right about now.

Niall wipes the tears away from his eyes, still giggling to himself. “Haz - we _have_ to do this one, oh my god - Zayn’d be so pissed if he found out I still have this, Jesus --”

Harry shakes his head in confusion. He doesn’t know much about Zayn - he’s only seen him once, stopping by the flat to borrow a sweatshirt from Niall. “Zayn? Is this Zayn’s old number or something?”

“No, no. _Much_ better than that.” Niall grins deviously and hits “make call”, putting his phone on speaker. They lean in close to peer down at the screen, heads knocking lightly together. Dull rings reverberate quietly around the room, mixing with the monotonous buzz of the lights. It rings for a while - maybe six or seven times - then the other line picks up.

There’s a slow, steady inhale, and a low voice purrs, “Hi, sexy.”

Niall looks like he’s already losing it, biting on his hand to hold back his laughter. His cheeks are ruddy from the liquor, but Harry - to his own pleasant surprise - is blushing for a different reason.

 _Holy fuck,_ whoever “Private Business” is... Harry is about to fall in love with his voice. This guy has barely said two words, and both of them have made his cock twitch in his jeans. That’s not even getting to what those words are, and why he’s saying them, and how Harry’s stomach is dropping into his shoes at the mere thought of him saying... other words. Words like “cock”, and “please”, and “come”.

He’s eternally grateful that Niall’s holding the phone so he doesn’t have to speak up - if he opens his mouth, he’s pretty sure all he’ll be able to do is moan.

“Um, good evening,” Niall says in a bad impression of a Holmes Chapel accent, with a mostly straight face.

The voice laughs softly on the other end. “That’s a bit formal, isn’t it?”

Niall pulls away to laugh, but stops when Harry motions with his hands, silently yelling _‘what the absolute fuck was that, mate??_ ’ Niall just shrugs, still looking rather happy with his word choice.

On the phone, Private Business continues. “What can I call you, love?”

To his credit, Niall doesn’t seem to find the _whole_ thing hilarious; it seems like he hasn’t expected this question. His pleased expression drops from his face and he looks urgently to Harry for the answer. Harry, however, also hasn’t expected this question; he just throws up his hands and shrugs.

“Harry,” Niall blurts out, and Harry groans and scrubs his hands down his face. Niall seems intent on rescuing the situation, though, frantically scrambling for words.

“Harry - um - Harry Andrew. Yeah. Harry-Andrew. That’s my name.” Harry full-on facepalms at that, seething in mortified embarrassment. It’s obvious that that’s not a real name - and if it is, it’s a bloody horrible one. Jesus Christ, give Niall _one_ job and he still manages to cock it up…

“That’s a bit of a mouthful,” The man hums pensively, and _god_ Harry wants Private Business to give him a mouthful of something besides a ridiculous fake name. “How about I shorten it, yeah? Can I do that?”

“‘Course,” Niall responds, his Irish accent kicking back in. Harry has to jab him in the ribs to get him to remember his fake accent.

 “How about just Harry? Is that okay?”

“Uh - yeah. Fine,” Niall answers, barely containing his laughter.

Private Business makes an alluring, hum-y sound that has Harry’s belly roiling with heat. “You seem nervous, baby. Don’t be shy.”

Niall grins at Harry. “Not shy at all. Sorry.”

The man makes a soothing noise. “You don’t have to be sorry, honey.”

 _Honey_ \- Jesus, Harry was fucking made to hear this voice say “honey”. There’s a silence, where Niall should probably say something, but the man seems to realize he won’t and takes over again.

“Having a nice night so far, love? We can just chat if you want. I promise I’m easy to talk to.”

Niall looks to Harry, shrugging. Harry just shrugs dumbly back, mind already too much of a horny mess to focus on things that aren’t _“don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard”_ .

“No?” Niall offers, but he’s drunk, so it comes out as a question.

Private Business hums in interest. “No? You don’t want to talk, Harry?”

Harry practically flinches again at hearing his name in his mouth; Niall, meanwhile, looks drunker and more lost by the second. He panickedly shoves his phone into Harry’s hands. Harry gives him another _‘what the fuck?!’_ look, but Niall just mouths _“talk!!”_ , so Harry does.

“Um - no. No,” He manages, and Niall nods encouragingly.

“Oh, I see,” Private Business laughs quietly, and Harry can hear the smirk in his voice. “You just wanna get off, is that it?”

Jesus Christ, the sky is gonna turn bloody _pink_ and start raining penguins - there’s no way this is real life, there’s no possible _way_ Harry is listening to this gorgeous voice asking him if he wants to get off. The only thing that’s keeping him bound to reality is Niall stifling his giggles next to him.

Under normal circumstances, this would be far too awkward to keep up, but Niall’s more than halfway to hammered, and Harry is frankly too head over heels for Private Business' voice to let go of this. He’s not about to get off right here, right now, of course - he just wants to take it a little further, wants to hear just a little bit more before he hangs up. Besides, Niall probably won’t even remember this tomorrow.

“Yeah,” Harry finally says, softer than he means to.

“You wanna know what I’m wearing, baby?” The voice asks, and Harry can’t help it - his breath catches in his throat a little.

The man notices, and hums happily. “Mm, you like it when I call you that. Don’t you, baby?”

Harry’s cheeks are burning red and Niall is dissolving into a fit of snorts, but Harry’s cock is interested enough that it keeps him talking.

“Um - yeah,” He mumbles, swallowing roughly.

“Aw. You’re adorable when you’re nervous, baby.”

 _Fuck_ \- Jesus Christ, this has to be a dream. Harry sighs happily, and if Niall hears, he gives no indication - he’s too busy knocking back another shot in between bouts of silent laughter.

“I’m not wearing much tonight,” The man continues calmly, sighing a little. “Just boxer briefs, black ones.”

Holy god. Harry’s got no idea what Private Business even looks like, but the thought of him wearing just boxer briefs has him half-hard in his jeans.

“It’s unseasonably warm where I am,” The man finishes in explanation.

Harry gulps a little and focuses on the fan blowing full-blast from the windowsill, a rare occurrence during an October in London. “Um - yeah, us, too.”

The man makes a confused sound. “Us?”

Harry’s an idiot - _Jesus_ Christ --

“Me! I meant ‘me’!” He adds frantically, unable to keep the panic out of his voice. Niall looks ready to pop a vein, he’s laughing so hard - he’s rolling in his chair and his hand is full-on covering his mouth to keep the sound in.

“D’you want something to call me, love?” Private Business coos, voice all gentle and soft and sweet. “Would that make you less nervous?”

Harry’s mouth is suddenly dry and he doesn’t know why, but the sexiest voice he’s ever heard is asking him a question and by god, he’s going to answer. “Erm - yeah. Please.”

“Well, I go by lots of names. You can call me Louis, if you want. But sometimes it helps to have something more… interesting, yeah?”

 _Louis_. Louis, Louis, Louis - this perfect creature with the kindest, sexiest voice in the world has a name, and it’s just as perfect as he is. Harry’s dazed at the mere concept, the idea planting a fog in his brain.

“Louis,” He murmurs dreamily, barely even aware he’s said it out loud.

“That’s right, baby. ‘M Louis,” Louis purrs, like he’s encouraging him. “You could call me other things, too, if you want. Like... ‘Master’. Or ‘Sir’. Even ‘baby’, if you’d like.”

Harry shakes his head, even though Louis can’t see him. ‘Baby’ feels wrong - _Harry_ feels like ‘baby’, Louis is… something else. Closer to 'master' or 'sir', maybe - something more.

Because the universe is clearly conspiring to put a sudden end to this dream, Niall chooses that exact moment to speak up and interrupt Louis and Harry’s hushed conversation.

“Give it to me hard, big daddy!” He yells drunkenly before dissolving back into a fit of silent giggles, toppling off the armchair altogether and landing in a laughing heap on the carpet.

Louis makes a sound like he’s perplexed, but admirably continues. “I’m Daddy to lots of people, love. You want me to be your Daddy, too?”

The blood drains out of Harry’s face in an instant. That word is... Jesus, he doesn’t _know_ what it is, except that his cock seems to love it. He’s rapidly chubbing up in his jeans - has to dig his nails into his thigh to keep from getting fully hard in the bloody _library_ like some kind of freak.

He panickedly jabs the ‘end call’ button before he even realizes what’s happening; his brain’s gone all weird and fuzzy - it just keeps repeating “Daddy” to him, over and over like he’s supposed to know what it means. Niall belatedly realizes what’s going on and wipes the tears of laughter from his eyes as he unsteadily sits up.

“Haz? What happened, mate? Why aren’t you laughing?”

Harry swallows hard, cheeks burning, and slams the phone down on the table. Niall jumps a little at the loud bang, echoing through the empty room.

“Jesus - what the hell? What’s wrong with you?”

Harry shakes his head hard and pulls his textbook closer to him, burying his nose in paragraphs about oil paint applications. Tears are pricking in his eyes, all annoying and awkward.

Niall stands clumsily and gets to the table, putting a hand gingerly on Harry’s shoulder. Even dead drunk, he can tell when he’s done something wrong. “I - 'm sorry, H. I didn’t mean to, like, make it awkward or whatever. Just wanted to have a laugh.”

Harry just shakes his head again, mind still murmuring “Daddy” to him over and over. It should be _funny_ , really - that he’s this shaken up about a word he’s only ever heard used as the butt of a dirty joke. The thing is, though… It’s not funny. Not in the slightest.

“Forget it. Just… Just gonna go back to studying,” He mumbles, voice breaking and making him look pathetic.

Niall takes his hand off his shoulder and steps back. “Didn’t mean to, I swear. I didn’t think it’d be, like… I mean, he didn’t say anything weird to you, did he?”

Harry slams his textbook shut, a frightened, panicky anger bubbling up in his chest and making him lash out. “ _Niall_. I said to forget it, alright?”

Niall puts his hands up, collapsing back down in the armchair. Harry sighs and stares down at his feet, because there’s an awkward mix of confusion and horniness and panic boiling in his belly.

“Just… Can you just, like, go home? You’re not studying anyway.” He doesn’t have the heart to look up at Niall while he says it - he can’t even believe he’s saying it in the first place. He never says things like this.

Niall stares at him for a long beat, looking wounded. Then he wordlessly picks up his backpack and phone and creeps out the door, leaving Harry alone under the flickering fluorescent lights with his Rembrandt notes and a half-chub.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter two!

It’s three whole days before Harry lets himself think about it again. Blissfully, Niall doesn’t seem to remember much of what happened - he skulks into their exam on Friday ten minutes late, hungover and in his pajamas.

Unfortunately for his midterm grade, Harry remembers almost none of what he studied. The long essay question ends up being about Rembrandt's lighting technique - something he _should_ know - but all he can think about is Louis. Afterward, Niall asks him how it went and offers him half of his hot fudge sundae Pop-Tart as consolation.

It’s sort of like nothing ever happened; neither of them mention the night before. 

That’s definitely good, because Harry doesn’t feel like explaining why he’d gotten so weird in the first place. It’s also bad, though, because he’s admittedly been dying to know why Niall’s got the number to a phone sex line saved in his phone. Still, he shoves any and all related thoughts into a lockbox in the corner of his mind - everything from Louis calling him “baby”, to the confusing wank he’d had in the library bathroom afterward, to the miserable D+ he scores on the exam.

The “forget about it completely” strategy appears to work fairly well for a little while - two full days pass without the embarrassing memories. Then comes Sunday night.

Harry wakes with a start just before midnight, groggily registering that the front of his boxers is all warm and sticky. Jesus - he’s come in his sleep - hasn’t done that since he was 17. He groans and flops back against the sweaty sheets. Massaging the bridge of his nose, he racks his brain for what he was dreaming about.

A single word creeps into his head, and this time he’s too tired to push it away.

“Daddy,” He breathes to himself, quiet and unfettered in the darkness. ”Daddy.” 

* * *

 He lets himself think about the easy part of it first - the part that’s more, like...normal. The idea of calling a stranger to get off started as the butt of Niall’s drunken joke, but over the last few days, it’s become... something else. Something that gets Harry’s skin all hot and prickly in class, something that makes his heart pound faster in his chest. Something that makes him _ache_.

He doesn’t even mean to think about it the first time, it just… sort of happens. Like, one second he’s in the shower having a perfectly normal wank, fucking into his fist to thoughts of a young Chris Stapleton (don’t judge him), and the next second he’s imagining somebody talking him off, their voice in his ear, all rough with an edge of static. Just like Louis’ was. He barely even has time to imagine what they’re saying or how they really sound before he comes embarrassingly quickly, hips stuttering under the warm water.

So that’s a thing. Phone sex is _definitely_ a thing, and Harry’s actually okay with that side of things. People do that, like in real life.

It’s the other part of it that still makes him feel weird and kind of... pathetic. Not to mention ridiculously horny. There’s a whole other _layer_ to this - a whole mess of shaky, twisted feelings that Harry is too scared to untangle. He just knows that “Daddy” is at the center of it. He tries to forget about it again, tries to keep it in the mental lockbox, but it doesn’t work. Once he starts thinking about it, he can’t stop.

Another week rushes by in a whirlwind of art projects, quizzes, and frantic wanks - in the shower, in bed, even in the bathroom between classes.

It’s almost sad how easily Harry gets off when he lets himself think about it - like, he gets into a good rhythm, then his mind drifts and he thinks about how Louis sounded telling Harry that he could be his Daddy. Sometimes he comes all over himself before he even gets to imagine what Louis might’ve said next if Harry hadn’t hung up.

So, like. That’s where he’s at - getting off for _days_ straight to the thought of calling a stranger named Louis “Daddy” over the phone.

He doesn’t really think anything’ll happen with it, of course - it’s not like he can just casually ask Niall for the number and call Louis back. For one thing, Harry despises talking on the phone; he doesn’t even like calling in prescriptions if he hasn’t written out a dumb little script to remind him what to say.

For another thing, Harry has to live one wall away from Niall for the whole rest of the year - sharing a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. If he fucks up their living arrangement one month into the school year by being some sex-obsessed nerd with a thing for calling guys “Daddy”, he’ll never live it down.

Besides, Niall is a good friend. Harry could easily see himself and Niall as close friends well after graduation - like, maybe they could even be the best man at each other’s weddings or something. The last thing he wants to do is screw up their friendship.

So Harry’s left to wonder about what could’ve been with Louis. It’s not like he doesn’t try to find the phone number, either. He gets desperate one Friday night alone and spends an hour on the seediest websites searching for the number, almost certainly riddling his ancient laptop with viruses - but to no avail.

All he remembers from the number itself is a London area code, so it’s probably fairly local. That _should_ theoretically narrow it down some, but the search is fruitless; no websites, no blog posts, no tweets - nothing. The closest lead he stumbles upon is a tiny advert in the personal ads for their town. “Experienced professionals available for mature conversation. _Affaire Privée Ltd._ ”

He can’t imagine that “mature conversation” refers to anything other than what he’s thinking of, but there’s no number attached to the advert. Just the business name, that pops up with a practically empty webpage when googled. Harry figures that it has to be a word-of-mouth thing, and that Niall has somehow gotten his hands on it for god knows what reason.

He gives up the search for a few days, resigning himself to never finding it (or Louis) again, until a particularly unsatisfying wank has him seriously considering knocking down Niall’s door to unashamedly ask for the number outright. He resolves to pluck up the courage and ask that Friday night. _After_ he’s gotten him drunk, of course.

* * *

 Their introductory figure drawing class is the last class of the week - 4 o’clock to 7 o’clock at night in the basement of the old art building. The class itself is fine, aside from the weird smell and generally ancient atmosphere of the classroom. 

The walls are peeling with beige paint, half of the easels are broken, and the pencil sharpener only works if you hold it at a certain angle. Luckily, the most redeeming quality of the class is the thing that makes it all worthwhile: life drawing. Also known as: three full hours spent staring at ridiculously attractive models.

Tonight they’re drawing Harry’s favorite subject, a model named Fionn; he’s all slender muscle, dark hair, and pale skin. Normally, Harry would spend the class period gawking at the cut of his shoulders and the planes of his bare back, but instead he’s mindlessly sketching a halfhearted outline while Louis’ voice bounces around his head.

Niall’s at the bench easel in front of him, nearly done with an incredibly detailed study of Fionn’s left elbow. Harry checks to make sure that their instructor, Ben, isn’t paying attention. Sure enough, he’s across the room lecturing a very bored-looking student about the importance of angles in the human form. The coast is clear.

“Psst,” Harry hisses, kicking lightly at Niall’s shoe. Niall turns around, brow still furrowed in concentration. Charcoal is smudged on his forehead and at the tip of his nose - he practically looks like a chimney sweep. 

“Winston’s such a twat,” Harry starts conversationally, trying to make it seem like he doesn’t have an ulterior motive.

Niall cracks a grin, digging in his pencil case for a kneaded eraser. “Yeah. He’s a dick.” He doesn't continue the conversation, just silently picks the pencil shavings out of his erase. He seems more interested in the classwork than in talking to Harry, and Harry can’t have that.

“So!” He continues brightly, just as Niall turns back to his work.

He arches an eyebrow at Harry. “So?”

“ _So_ ,” Harry continues pointedly. “I was thinking we could hang out tonight. Watch a movie, maybe?”

Niall puffs his cheeks out like he’s thinking through his social schedule. “No bar?”

Harry’s thought this through, and he’s absolutely certain that #1: he _hates_ bars and #2: he doesn’t want to waste the night being fawned over by straight girls who think they have a chance with him.

“No bar,” He confirms, and Niall visibly loses interest. “ _But_ …” Harry continues, and Niall - thankfully - looks vaguely interested again. “I’ll provide the drinks.”

Just then, a clammy hand claps down on Harry’s shoulder. He doesn’t have to look up to know it belongs to their instructor. _Ugh_.

“Something you’d like to share with the class, Mr. Styles?” Ben drawls in his annoying voice.

Harry inwardly groans and shakes his head. “Just asking Niall about the, um… the angle of the model’s pose.”

Ben claps excitedly and stalks over to the chalkboard, starting to give yet another mini-lecture about angles. Harry rolls his eyes and goes back to his conversation.

“So there’ll be drinks, free of charge, _and_ a Halloween movie. How much better could a Friday night get, mate?” Jesus, he feels like he’s selling a used car or something - Niall must notice that he’s more excited than usual about social plans, but the promise of free drinks is enough to sway him to do just about anything.

“Yeah, alright. I’m in.”

Harry cheers in his head, one step closer to weaseling the number out of him.

“Wait!” Niall adds with a mischievous grin, brandishing his 6B graphite pencil wildly. “You have to go to the Halloween party at Beta Theta Pi with me next week.”

Harry resists the urge to groan out loud - frat parties are almost as bad as bars, especially Beta Theta Pi. But _Louis_...

“Fine,” He responds curtly. “See you tonight, then.”

* * *

 Maybe it’s a little mean to coax Niall into playing a drinking game the night before their typography project is due, but the rum burning in Harry’s belly is telling him to keep going. 'Course, Niall takes hardly any convincing to get drunk in the first place, but he’s _really_ on board once Harry tells him he found a Hocus Pocus drinking game.

Two hours later, the end credits are scrolling by on Harry’s tiny TV, and Niall’s imbibed a truly impressive amount of hard liquor given the time. As such, he’s on his way to being absolutely smashed - he’s in his giggly stage, just about to get cuddly the way he does when he’s truly drunk.

A breathless shiver runs down Harry's spine at the thought of actually talking to Louis again. He’s trying to stay as sober as possible because he wants to remember this if it happens, but hell - he needs a little liquid courage.

Niall yawns and stretches, pulling a pillow closer to his chest. “Gonna go to sleep, mate,” He mutters through another yawn, and fuck - he _can’t_ do that, that’d ruin Harry’s plan completely. Harry needs to keep him awake a little longer, give it time for the alcohol to go to his head.

He racks his brain for a solution, and comes up with the perfect idea. “You up for some drunk Ouija?”

Niall sits up immediately, pillow tumbling off his lap to the floor. If there’s one thing he loves more than alcohol, it’s drunk Ouija. “That’s not even a question, dickhead. Gimme the board.”

Harry bounds excitedly to his closet, willing to be distracted from the matter at hand for a second because Ouija boards are, to put it mildly, his shit.

It’s fruitless for a few minutes with little to no activity, and Niall’s yawning even more than before. Maybe it's because Halloween is getting closer, but even Harry starts getting a little spooked. The long shadows cast across his lavender curtains make his fingers tremble a little on the planchette.

Thankfully, they eventually make contact with a spirit named Gary who’s much more funny than he is spooky; Niall drunkenly tells him they’ve been downing rum & cokes all night and he spells _“whiskey, please”_. Gary doesn’t hang around for very long, though, so they decide to close the board and give up.

The night’s drawing toward an end, and Harry’s window of opportunity is quickly closing. If he doesn’t pluck up the courage to speak soon, he’ll lose his chance altogether. So he decides to get brave and shoves at Niall’s shoulder playfully after he puts the board away.

“So. You wanna give me the number from the other night, mate?” Niall looks at him through tipsy confusion, a cold pizza slice halfway to his mouth.

“What are you on about? Number for what?” He pointedly lifts the pizza slice up, the sheen of grease hitting the light. “We’ve already got a pizza.”

Harry rolls his eyes, trying to sound more confident than he looks. “No, you noodle. _The_ number. The… y’know. Private Business. From the other day.”

Niall’s facial expressions go through a truly hilarious range of emotions before he settles on a teasing smirk. He drops the pizza slice, too drunk to pay attention to the fact that it lands on Harry’s white shag rug instead of the box. “ _Oh_. You wanna get off or something, H?”

Harry gulps, shaking his head hard. “No!” He groans internally at how defensive he is - if Niall were sober, he’d see right through him. “No, I - I mean… I’m just curious. That’s all. Just curious.”

God, there’s no subtle way to go about this. It seems like he’ll just have to hide behind the fact that he’s tipsy - or maybe that he’s hard up and desperate. He huffs out a sigh, hoping a note of seriousness will sway him.

“Niall. _Please_. Haven’t gotten laid in weeks, you know that.” He’s trying to make himself sound drunker than he is, but he’s too nervous to make it convincing.

“Don’t think you’ve gotten laid _ever…_ ” Niall mumbles through a cheeky grin, but he’s reaching in his pocket for his phone. It takes him four tries to put his passcode in correctly, and he gets sidetracked by Snapchat for a few minutes, but eventually he gets to his contacts list again.

Harry’s heart is pounding out of his chest now that he’s so close to this actually happening - to _Louis_.

“Gonna ask big daddy to give it to you hard?” Niall says through a fit of laughter, clutching his stomach.

Harry’s cheeks turn red and his mouth goes dry. “I - um, I --” He stutters.

Blissfully, his obvious embarrassment doesn’t matter because Niall’s seems to _finally_ be smashed - he drunkenly shoves his phone into Harry’s hand, the contact for “Private Business” pulled up on the cracked screen.

“Horny bastard. Here, have it if you want it so much.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter 3 and the introduction of the smut! Enjoy :-)

Ten minutes later, Harry’s wedged in his closet, heart beating out of his chest. Niall’s already dead asleep in the room next door, but Harry’s still anxious he’ll hear something incriminating, so he’s hiding in here as a precaution. Besides, he feels better knowing that it’s too dark for him to have to look down at his flushed body and see how much he’s into this - this Daddy thing. The door’s cracked a little so that he doesn’t get too hot, but he’s still panicky that the thin walls aren’t enough protection. 

He’s got his jeans off because it was starting to hurt, having his cock trapped up against the zip. If he weren’t tipsy, he’d be far more careful about this - usually he has to write down a bloody script to get through phone calls - but the mere _thought_ of Louis has him hard enough to blindly push through. It must be the tenth time he’s dialed the number, but this time he doesn’t hang up.

His knuckles are probably white from gripping his iPhone, and his heart’s crawling into his throat; he focuses instead on the feeling of his half-chub in his briefs. It feels like it rings for _ages_ , dull ringtone reverberating through Harry’s skull and tumbling clumsily down his spine. It’s time enough for him to panic and second-guess himself a thousand times, but he keeps biting his lip and waiting for an answer.

Finally, the person on the other line picks up. There’s a calm inhale on the other end, then -

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Harry’s eyes practically roll back at just those two words - Christ, he’s already so hard, so desperate. He’d been worried that it wouldn’t be Louis who picked up, but the sexy, raspy purr of his voice is unmistakable.

Harry’s spent the better part of two weeks thinking about what he wants to say to him, but now that it’s finally happening, all he can come up with is one word.

“Daddy,” He gasps out, too drunk off the heat in his belly to chastise himself for how weird this must sound.

Thankfully, Louis just hums happily. “Mm, you’re lovely, aren’t you?”

“Daddy,” Harry gasps again, quieter and more breathless this time.

“You want me to be Daddy, honey?” Louis asks in a soothing, gentle voice. “I can be your Daddy.”

Harry gulps thickly because holy god, this is actually happening to him, and _yes, please be Daddy, please please please be my Daddy._

“Please?” He asks in a small, quavering voice.

A smirk creeps into Louis’ voice. “Ooh, you’ve got manners, too? Such a good boy for me already.”

Fuck, Harry can’t help the broken moan that falls from his lips.

Louis mm’s like he’s intrigued, like he’s enjoying figuring out what Harry’s into. “You like that, love? You like when Daddy calls you a good boy?”

“Yes,” Harry breathes.

“Yes what?” Louis asks, and Harry has to resist the urge to shove his hand completely down his pants without, like - without _permission_.

“Yes, Daddy,” He gets out, cock twitching between his legs.

“Good boy,” Louis purrs. “Are you touching yourself, angel?”

Harry shakes his head adamantly before he realizes Louis can’t see him; he mumbles a soft “no, Daddy”.

“On your best behavior tonight, hm? Tell me, love. What can I call you?”

“I. Um.” _Call me whatever the hell you want, Jesus Christ..._

 _“_  I _…_ Erm, ‘m Harry,” He finally says, deciding that he’d rather take the risk and be talked off using his real name instead of another drunken excuse for a fake one.

“Harry,” Louis repeats, and Harry dies approximately twelve-hundred small deaths in the space of a second. “You’ve got a pretty name, baby. I like it.”

Harry forces himself to stare up at the jumpers hanging in his closet, trying to keep his head from spinning. “Um, I… um, thank you.”

Louis waits, like he’s expecting something.

“ _Daddy_ ,” Harry adds hastily, and Louis laughs softly. It’s the most gorgeous sound Harry’s ever heard.

“You’re welcome. It’s nice to meet you, angel.”

 _Angel, baby, good boy_ \- fucking hell, it’s not even dirty talk yet and Harry’s close to losing it. He presses his thighs together in an effort to keep calm, but it’s hopeless.  

“You can call me Louis if you want. But Daddy is just fine, too.”

God, he sounds just like a Louis - like… like he’s _regal_ and strong, and... royal.

Louis seems to notice Harry’s overwhelm, because his voice turns all soothing and gentle. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re wearing, baby?”

The line’s so cheesy, really - Niall would be laughing ‘til he pissed if he were here. But Niall’s not here. _Louis_ is here, in Harry’s ear, asking him what he’s wearing in the sexiest voice, and - fuck, Harry needs to pull it together. “Jumper,” He manages, thumbs worrying at the sleeves of his old sweater. “Briefs,” He adds, swallowing hard.

Louis mm’s in the most _delicious_ -sounding way. “That’s all? Naughty baby. So naughty for Daddy, aren’t you?”

Jesus Christ. A bead of precome drips from Harry’s cock, all wet and sticky against the front of his briefs. He makes a soft sound in affirmation and twitches his hips a little.

“Are you hard for me, darling?” Louis purrs, and Harry knocks his head back against the wall.

“Yeah,” He mumbles dizzily, squinting in the darkness at the way his cock tents his briefs. “Really hard.”

Louis makes an appreciative noise. “Lovely. You’re so lovely, sweetheart. I can help you with that, don’t worry.”

Harry whimpers softly in the back of his throat, so desperate that he should be embarrassed.

“Can you tell me how you like to touch yourself, baby?” Louis asks him in the sweetest, gentlest voice.

Harry swallows again, painfully aware of the way his cock is fattening up as Louis says those words. “Um. Yeah.” He’s stunned silent for a second, grasping for the words to say, but his brain is a mess of heat and desperation and _please_. All he can get out is a quiet moan, cock twitching again in his briefs as he whines.

“Oh, darling. S’okay,” Louis murmurs. “You’re being so good for me. I won’t make you beg too much.” He switches tactics. “What about... What about your nipples, angel? They sensitive?”

Jesus - are they sensitive - Harry’s pretty sure he could get off just from touching them. Fucking hell, Louis is asking him this question like he already knows the answer.

“ _Yeah_ , Daddy,” He manages, fingers tangling in the hem of his jumper so that he doesn't touch his cock without asking.

Louis hums happily. “Beautiful. Want you to do something for Daddy, love. Can you touch one of them? Just through your jumper - only touch it lightly, yeah?”

Harry’s mouth goes dry, and more pre-come drips from the tip of his cock, but he does as he’s told. “‘Kay,” He says softly when the pad of his finger is pressed to his right nipple.

“Good boy. I wanna tell you about something important, now. Okay, love? Wanna make sure my baby feels safe with me, hm?”

 _My_ baby. Harry’s nipple is already drawn tight under his fingertip, but he forces his mind back to the conversation.

“Gonna tell you about colors, sweetheart. Green means ‘keep going’, yeah? Yellow is ‘slow down, talk about it’, and red means ‘stop immediately’.” Louis is speaking slowly and soothingly, and this whole thing is somehow so much _better_ than Harry imagined it would be.

“Yeah. Makes sense,” He mumbles back.

“Good. When I ask you what your color is, I want you to tell me if it’s green, yellow, or red. And you tell me at any point if it changes, okay? Does that sound alright?” Harry mm-hm’s quietly; then Louis’ voice takes on a bit of a rougher edge that has Harry struggling to keep his hips still.

“You still touching your nipple like I asked?”

“Yes, Daddy,” He breathes.

“Good. Want you to start rubbing little circles now, yeah? Just slow circles. That shouldn’t be a problem, hm?”

Harry shakes his head, internally whining. “No.” His breath hitches in his throat as he starts to do what Louis asked; the rough material of his jumper is making the contact even more intense. His cock is fully hard between his legs now, all aching and swollen.

“Perfect. What a good boy you are. Daddy’s good boy.”

Harry chokes out something that’s halfway between a moan and a sob, and Louis seems to love that. He makes a pleased noise, and Harry can hear springs creaking, like he’s shifting on a mattress.

“You sound so pretty when you’re desperate for me, angel. I wonder…” He trails off for a second, and Harry’s hand stutters on his nipple as his cock pulses out another bead of pre-come. “I’m just gonna talk to you for a minute, okay? You let me know if it gets to be too much, baby.”

Harry gulps, moaning inwardly as he wonders what Louis will do next. It’s getting _so_ hard to leave his cock alone, but having his free hand occupied by his nipple is helping a bit.

“Daddy’s so happy you’re being such a good boy,” Louis starts, sighing a little. “You even got Daddy hard, being so obedient and polite.”

 _Fuck_ \- fuckfuckfuck - Harry can’t help the way his hips buck up, he can’t help the broken moan that echos around the closet. “Oh, god - _Daddy_ \--” He gets out, thoroughly overwhelmed at the prospect of making Louis hard, just from being like this.

Louis coos, a smirk coloring his tone. “You like that, sweetheart? You like knowing how hard you make Daddy?”

Harry just sighs desperately, forcing his fingers to slow down on his nipple.

“Take off your jumper, baby. You can put the phone down, I’ll wait.”

Harry does as he’s asked, setting the phone on the wooden floor of his closet and tugging his jumper over his head. It’s hot, considering that he’s in his closet, but he’s sweating for a completely different reason; he doesn’t need light to know that he’s blushing all the way down to his chest. He picks his phone back up. “‘Kay.”

“Want you to touch your nipple again, angel. Just like before, only this time with no top on. Can you do that for me?”

“Mm-hmm,” Harry squeaks out, raising a shaky hand to his nipple. He hisses a little at the direct contact, but starts to rub slow circles like Louis asked.

“Beautiful. Mm, Daddy’s so hard listening to your whines. So needy and desperate, aren’t you?”

Harry’s panting outright now, breathing hard with sweat beading on his forehead. His hand keeps speeding up of its own volition, and he has to make a great effort to slow down.

“Y’know, I do try to be professional with my clients,” Louis continues, sighing again. “But you’ve got me so hard, love. You make Daddy wanna get off, too.”

Harry gulps thickly. “ _Green_ ,” He gets out, because he wants Louis to know how much he loves this.

Louis laughs softly. “Would you like that, love? You want Daddy to tell you how he gets off thinking about his baby?”

And fuck, Harry can’t properly respond to that - not with words, anyway - so he just moans quietly.

“Thought you might,” Louis says back calmly. There’s the sound of a zip, then rustling fabric like he’s getting his jeans off. Fuck - Jesus, Louis must really be touching himself. It’s mind-numbing, honestly. Harry’s only got one finger on his nipple, but he thinks he might just come from this.

Louis exhales, long and slow. “Mm. Feels good.”

Harry’s eyes flutter shut as a familiar sound floats through the speakers. It’s unmistakable; Louis has his hand wrapped wetly around his cock.

“You know ‘m gonna make you come just like this, right? Gonna make you come untouched, just listening to me,” Louis adds, voice shaking ever so slightly. Harry seriously thinks he might spontaneously combust - just burst into flames, right here on the spot with his fingernail grazing his nipple. There’s a particularly slick sound, and Louis gasps out an “oh!” like he wasn’t expecting it.

Harry cries out softly, hand stuttering on his chest, and Louis makes a soothing sound. “You like hearing that, baby?”

“Yeah, Daddy,” Harry whimpers back, all pathetic and pitiful.

“Do something for me, love,” Louis continues, breathing hard.

 _Anything_ , Harry thinks.

“Pinch your nipple a few times - hard, just for me.”

God - it’s like Louis knows exactly how Harry gets off, knows how he likes it to hurt a little when he’s close.

“I - _um_ ,” Harry gets out, trying to find the words to tell him that he’ll come all over himself if he does it too many times. “Gonna come if I do, Daddy,” He finally manages; he doesn’t want this to end, doesn’t want to have to say goodbye or stop listening to the way Louis’ breath keeps catching in his throat.

Louis’ breathing sounds labored now, like he’s working himself over more quickly. Still, his voice remains calm and professional. “That’s sort of the point, love.”

Harry musters up all of his willpower and pinches lightly at his nipple. It’s like a shock jolts through his body, and he gasps and grinds back against the wall.

“Again,” Louis murmurs. Harry exhales and complies; this time, a familiar curl of heat twists through his tummy. “More,” Louis pants, and the wet sounds of his hand on his cock are almost more than Harry can handle. Still, he pinches his nipple again - harder than before. His hips buck up into nothingness, thighs trembling a little with the exertion of hanging on.

His cock’s so stiff that it almost hurts at this point; he’s so desperate to come. “‘M hard, Daddy,” He whines, all pitiful.

Louis’ voice goes soft and gentle. “Shh - s’okay, I’m here. Daddy’s here, baby.” It’s like he’s coddling him - coddling him through a bloody _wank_ , but somehow Harry doesn’t care when he’s so desperate.

“Wanna come - _please_ , um --” Harry manages, not even sure where the need to ask permission came from.

“Gonna let you soon, baby. Promise. What’s your color?”

“Green,” Harry sobs plaintively, pinching at his nipple again. His cock’s all wet and sticky, aching to be touched from where it's pressed up against the front of his briefs. The pit of his stomach is burning with desperate heat, and he whines brokenly at how _close_ he is.

“Oh --” Louis moans quietly, and Harry hears his hand stutter a little on his cock. This is the first time he’s let himself slip - it’s like he’s getting worked-up from this, too. Harry experimentally pinches his nipple even harder, pulling a whimper from his lips. Louis moans softly again, sending a zip of heat up Harry’s spine. “ _God_ \- gonna make me come, baby - you’re so good, love, just keep doing that for me.”

Harry rolls the hardened nub between his fingers, then sets his jaw and pulls lightly at it. The effect is instantaneous - his back arches against the wall, cock twitching hard against his belly, and he full-on sobs.

“ _Oh_ \- fuck, fuck - oh my _god_ ,” Louis says quietly on the other line, and Harry registers the absence of the wet sounds and realizes Louis must actually be coming, Jesus _Christ_.

He pinches at his nipple over and over again as his toes curl against the floor. He very nearly starts coming, listening to Louis’ soft whines, but somehow manages to hang on until Louis breathes “Jesus,” into the phone. All Harry can murmur back is “ _Daddy_ ,” and Louis knows what he’s asking for.

“You can come now, angel. Go ahead. Come for Daddy.”

And, like - real life isn’t supposed to be like this, Harry’s not _supposed_ to be able to come on command - but he does. Louis tells him to come, and he just _does_. He’s not even pinching his nipple when it happens, just comes all over himself with his hand hovering above his chest. He pours hot into his briefs and over his tummy, making himself all messy and sticky.

All he can do is whimper out a needy string of “oh - oh, _oh_ \- _oh_ , Daddy - oh, oh, _fuck”_ as it happens, hips rocking and twitching as his orgasm pulses through his body. It leaves him shaky and sweaty, head knocking back against the wall.

“That’s my perfect, good boy,” Louis is whispering in his ear. “My best boy. My favorite. Did so well for me, sweet baby. So proud of you.”

Harry mm’s, trailing his fingers lazily through the come on his belly. “French,” He mumbles dazedly, biting lightly at his lower lip.

“What’s that, baby?”

“French,” Harry repeats. “Your name. Louis. ‘S French, isn’t it?”

Louis laughs softly. “Yes, it is.”

Harry grins sleepily. “J’adore.”

Louis hums contently. “You’re a charmer, aren’t you?”

Harry just smiles wider and stifles a yawn. “Go to sleep for me, baby. Get some rest, okay? It’s late.” Louis pauses for a second, and when he speaks again, he sounds almost nervous. “And call me back sometime, yeah? I liked talking to you tonight, love. Really liked it.”

“Yeah, Daddy,” Harry sighs dreamily.

“That's my good boy. G’night, angel. Sweet dreams.”


	4. Chapter 4

It’s probably obvious to everyone that Harry’s falling in love - and honestly, he's a right _idiot_ for feeling this way. Jesus - he barely knows Louis, for fuck's sake. Although if anyone is going to fall in love with a phone sex operator, it’s Harry Styles. He’s been trying to shove the feelings away, telling himself the fluttery breathlessness is just because he got off, or because he gave in and let himself have this "Daddy" thing. But every time he thinks about Louis, and the sleepy way he wished him sweet dreams, a horde of butterflies crops up in his tummy and he gets this heart-melting warmth in his chest.

It’s not like he’s _trying_ to be overeager, but Louis is just so… Louis. Harry’s always been a "feelings" kind of person anyway, and, like - there’s no way he can really prevent it, especially when Louis is so good at _other_ things, too. Things that make charges from Affaire Privée Ltd. pop up on Harry's credit card bill every night for two weeks straight.

It’s sort of a routine now; when Harry gets home from another late night in the library, he calls Louis up to relieve his stress. He just can’t help himself - not when he’s single and lonely and too busy for a boyfriend - and not when Louis is his Daddy. He finds that he doesn't really _want_ anyone else, even if he'd be able to touch them and talk to them in real life.

Somewhere into the third week since he’s started calling Louis regularly, he’s on his back with his free hand bound to the headboard by his bandanna.

“Hi, Daddy,” He murmurs into the phone, and Louis makes a happy sound on the other line.

“Mm, my favorite boy. Hi, you.”

“Guess what?”

Louis pretends to think for a second, even though he already knows the answer - Harry’s so into the light bondage that they’ve been doing it for almost four nights straight.

“Let me think… Your wrist is tied to the headboard?”

Harry blushes, cock twitching between his legs. “How’d you know?”

A few minutes of Louis purring sweet nothings into his ear is enough to get him ridiculously hard. Pre-come spills onto his belly, and he makes a soft sound at the sudden warmth spreading across his skin.

“Oh, darling. So pretty when you’re all hard for me. So pretty.”

Harry blushes deeper. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Bet you get called pretty a lot,” Louis continues calmly. “Don’t you?”

 "No," Harry sighs, because it's the truth. Weird boys who carry around textbooks about typography and paragraph design don't exactly get called "pretty". Louis tuts his tongue quietly.

"I find that hard to believe."

Harry shrugs. "S'true. I'm kind of, like... awkward. Clumsy 'n stuff, too."

Louis hushes him in the gentlest way, and Harry can hear the smile in his voice. "Well, I love it. I think you're the sweetest thing." 

His cheeks go red again and he grins to himself, equal parts embarrassed and in love. "Stop it, Daddy."

"Mm, don't go all shy on me yet, love. Let Daddy hear those pretty moans, hm?"

Twenty minutes later, Harry comes after stroking his cock only twice - a personal best, if he says so himself. He lies there for awhile after Louis hangs up, not wanting to go back to real life. Real life where Louis only exists on his telephone, and where he's got a report and two sketches due tomorrow. He thinks about Louis telling him he loves his clumsiness - and calling him "the sweetest thing" - until butterflies are practically swarming in his belly, a full hour past his bedtime.

* * *

Two days later, Harry finds himself standing at the front of a _very_ long queue for the campus Starbucks. He’s just pulled an all-nighter with Niall, studying for yet another art history exam. He wouldn’t have had to, usually - would’ve started studying weeks ago - but he’s stayed up too late on the phone with Louis too many nights in a row to save time to study.

The exam is already over with, thank goodness, but Harry still has a drawing class he needs to stay awake for. He’s desperate for some energy, so he’s enlisting the help of Starbucks. And the thing is - Harry _never_ drinks coffee; the caffeine gets him too jittery, so he prefers to stick to a green juice or smoothie. He doesn't even come into this _building_ , for fuck's sake - he has to ask an exhausted-looking graduate student for directions. 

He’s still squinting up at the menu, struggling to focus his tired eyes on reading the sizes of the drinks, when a familiar voice startles him out of his skin.

“What can I get you, mate?”

 _Fuck_. He’d know that voice anywhere.

The man speaking is a barista, a few inches shorter than Harry, with feathery brown hair and ridiculously blue eyes. He’s staring at Harry expectantly, an edge of impatience in his eyes. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Harry’s stunned silent at how pretty and pink his mouth is, and how unfairly hot his stubbly jawline is. The name-tag pinned to his apron reads “Lou”, and _fuck_ \- that’s all the confirmation Harry really needs.

“What can I get you?” Lou presses, flicking his gaze to the endless line behind Harry. Harry meets his eyes, mouth opening and closing like an idiot. He’s floundering, heart pounding like crazy.

“Um - I - um --”  

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ \- like, logically, the voice he’s been getting off to for weeks has to belong to a real person, yes. He knows that much. But one that looks like _this_ ? The universe is conspiring against him, Jesus - it’s like his cock wants to get hard out of habit. This isn’t just some random student at his uni, this isn’t just a barista - it’s not even just a hot stranger he’s seeing on the street. No... this is _Daddy_.

Louis’ face starts to look concerned, and his voice is gentle and kind. “D’you want my recommendation?”

Relief floods through Harry’s body. “Yes. That’d be great.”

“Well, I prefer the breakfast tea, but I can’t take sugar in mine. Just milk.” He quirks an eyebrow at Harry. “That sound okay?”

Harry nods gratefully, hoping he doesn’t look as ruined as he feels.

“And what’s your name?” Lou asks, easily picking up a cup. Just like that, Harry’s brief sense of relaxation falls away. Fuckfuckfuck - what can he say? He can’t say his _real_ name, surely not. Louis’ll recognize him immediately if he hasn’t already placed his voice, and, like - what if he doesn’t like Harry? What if he’s expecting some tall, handsome athlete? What if curly-haired, pigeon-toed, nervous, clumsy, awkward Harry isn’t good enough?

 “Niall,” Harry blurts out. Jesus - _excellent_ form, Harry… “Niall,” He repeats, deflating.

Louis’ blue eyes disappear for a moment as he bends his head to write the name on the cup; when he looks back up, his eyes are narrowed and suspicious. “I don’t know you from somewhere, do I?”

Harry shakes his head far too hard to be casual, blush creeping further up his neck. “No. Don’t think so.”

Louis nods, but he still looks skeptical. “Right. You just… you look familiar, is all.”

Harry’s mind races, trying to latch onto some excuse. “I - uh, I’m a figure model. For drawing class.” Christ. More _brilliant_ work, Harry - cover up a lie with another even more obvious lie.

Louis nods again, actually looking a little impressed at Harry's fake job. Harry withers internally.

“Well, that’s _definitely_ not me. I’m in the college of education. Drama teacher in training,” Louis explains, passing the cup down to another barista.

Harry’s trying really hard not to let his heart melt right there in Starbucks, but he’s sure Louis still hears his dreamy sigh because he quizzically arches an eyebrow at him. “You okay, Niall?”

Harry clears his throat too loudly, sweat beading at the nape of his neck. “Yeah. Fine, sorry.”

Louis tips his head as if to say ‘ _suit yourself_ ’, and holds out his hand. Harry stares confusedly down at it, panicked as to what to do with it. “Cash or card?” Louis clarifies, and Harry internally smacks himself upside the head for not realizing. Right, okay - this’ll be just fine, he’s almost made it out of the interaction alive and then he can slink back into hiding for, like, the rest of his life.

He digs in his pocket for his wallet… only to come up empty-handed. In his exhaustion, he must’ve left it on his desk or something. “ _Fuck_ ,” He curses to himself, full-on facepalming, cheeks burning. “I’m _so_ sorry - I’m such an idiot --” He rambles apologetically as Louis glances back to the end of the ever-growing queue again.

“Hey,” He interrupts him softly. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on me.”

God, Harry feels so stupid - not only is he embarrassing and awkward and weird, he’s also making Louis pay for his fucking tea. “Are you sure?” He asks, voice trembling, and Louis nods emphatically. His smile is warm and gorgeous, and Harry’s heart is melting again.

“Yeah, ‘course. Don’t mention it.”

“Thanks,” Harry tells him lamely, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He stares at Louis for a beat too long, drinking in how _incredible_ he is, and how he’s a real person who exists in _real life_ , and how there’s so much that’s happened between them that he can't talk about it here. Then he forces himself out of the queue to the pick-up area to avoid making even more of a fool of himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter five! Harry and Niall go to a Halloween party and Beta Theta Pi, and fun things happen. Quick note -  
>  "Where's Waldo" is the American version of "Where's Wally", but I figured "Waldo" would be more recognizable. Enjoy :-)

Harry is very rudely awoken on Halloween morning a few days later by a half-naked Niall jumping on his bed, screaming, “Happy Halloween!!!” at the top of his lungs. The sun isn't even up - it must be barely six o'clock. He groggily sits up, shoving weakly at Niall’s chest. “Get off me, dickhead.”

Niall just shrieks and pretends to bite Harry’s arm with his fake vampire fangs. “Prepare for a night of spooks and frights, ya wanker!”

Harry groans and flops back against his pillows. “Ugh, you sound like a bloody greeting card…”

Niall laughs and rolls off the bed, taking his vampire teeth out. “C’mon, Haz! Get excited! We’re going to a party tonight - d'you remember? Beta Theta Pi?” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Harry resists the urge to tug the blanket over his head.

“Unfortunately.”

Niall huffs and plops down onto the foot of Harry’s bed. “Have you even picked out a costume yet? I can help you decide if you want.” Harry shrugs. To be honest, between class and Louis, the thought of picking a Halloween costume hadn’t even occurred to him.

“Dunno. Just figured I’d go as myself.” Niall’s expression grows serious, like this issue has life-or-death importance.

“Haz. C’mon. We _have_ to get you a good costume.”

Harry scrubs a hand over his face. What he _wants_ to do is go back to sleep. Then he wants to camp outside the Starbucks for a month until he runs into Louis again - or maybe move to a different continent altogether, he hasn't decided. It’s awful because on the one hand, he desperately wants to talk to him again, but he also doesn't want to be even more embarrassing and awkward and weird. Thankfully, the staff is so large that he hasn’t been lucky enough to see him, despite making near-daily trips in to satisfy his newfound love of breakfast tea - with milk, no sugar. 

Sleepily, he registers Niall listing off various costumes ideas. “...Bride of Frankenstein, Marley & Me, Lightning McQueen, Shakespeare, a pirate…”

Harry sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Niall, how the hell would I dress up as an animated  _car_ ?”

Niall rolls his eyes like the answer is obvious. “Carry a wheel around with you. Duh.”

Harry shakes his head, then snatches the plastic vampire fangs out of his hands. He holds them aloft happily. “There. Costume sorted. Now leave me alone so I can go back to sleep.”

Niall grins and claps his hands excitedly. “Yes, Dracula! Perfect! We’re gonna look so sick, Styles - it’s gonna be ace --”

“Yeah, yeah…” Harry groans, lobbing a pillow at Niall's head as he makes his way out the door.

“8 o’clock sharp!” Niall shouts as he disappears into the hall.

Harry would _like_ to say he goes to sleep again.

In reality, he wanks to the thought of Louis dressed as a sexy pirate until he’s almost late to class.

* * *

 All of Harry’s low-effort Halloween costume plans are dashed when he comes home from class to find Niall in the living room surrounded by all of the fixings for an elaborate Dracula costume. "Did a little shopping," He explains, holding up about ten receipts from different Halloween stores. 

45 minutes later, Harry's got cheap white facepaint covering his dark circles - dodgily applied by Niall. There’s rather nice fangs stuck to his eyeteeth - even fake blood on either side of his mouth - and he’s got a black collared cape to top everything off. Thankfully, Niall still lets him wear his usual black jeans and t-shirt, though it’s a bit of a fight to let him wear his Chelsea boots (he claims they’re “not vampire-y enough”).

By the time Niall’s dragged him through two amateur haunted houses in the next neighborhood over, Harry’s desperate to go home - and they haven’t even gotten to the party yet. If he’s honest, all he wants to do is curl up in bed with his right hand and Louis murmuring in his ear.

“Party time!” Niall hoots, already half-drunk from the flask he’s got in his pocket. He’s dressed in a rather brilliant costume, really - he’s an American baseball player, complete with a bat and catcher’s mitt. Plenty of girls are eyeing up his bum in his tight-fitting pants, but Niall seems more interested in poking fun at the jack-o-lanterns lining the street than in getting any phone numbers.

Once they get to the Beta Theta Pi house, they find - to Harry’s distaste - that it’s packed full. He loses Niall practically the second they get inside; his friend, Liam, is DJ-ing and calls him up on the makeshift stage to say hello to the crowd. Immediately, Harry starts to get anxious, the way he does in big crowds. It’s not like he knows anyone here. This isn’t really his crowd - he prefers to hang out with the art nerds and introverts. Niall isn't like that - he’s the opposite of Harry, seems to be friends with practically _everyone_ on campus. He's never uncomfortable in situations like this. It feels like Harry's the only one who gets this way.

After a few minutes of nervously observing the crowd, it becomes clear to Harry that he’s definitely turned into the freak in the corner at parties - the one who daydreams about falling in love with a phone sex operator, apparently. God, he needs to get a grip - or a drink, at the very least.

He pushes past a few girls dressed as sexy versions of Taco Bell sauce packets on his way to the kitchen, but he’s stopped short of the doorway by a firm hand on his arm. He looks confusedly down at it, then raises his gaze to find that it’s attached to a rather tall man in a king’s crown and robe.

“Hey,” He shouts over the din of the music, and Harry nods at him.

“I’m Michael,” The stranger says, leaning in closer than he really has to. His breath licks hotly up Harry’s neck.

“Harry,” He offers back.

Michael gives him a very obvious once-over, then smirks at him. “Nice costume.”

Harry shrugs. “My mate put it together.”

Michael’s teeth are a glint of white in the dim light of the living room. “You wanna dance?” Really, Harry doesn’t even know if Michael’s all that attractive - but he’s grateful he’s not being hit on by sorority girls for the time-being. That, and he needs to get Louis off his mind.

So he decides to live a little and agrees. “Uh - sure.”

Michael, Harry quickly learns, is _very_ touchy. His hands snake around Harry’s waist as soon as they start dancing, pulling him close. Harry’s admittedly a bit uncomfortable, but he’s done this before at gay bars - he can handle a little grinding if it helps him get out of his own head.

“You’re a cutie,” Michael mumbles in his ear.

“Um - thanks,” Harry says back, already getting sweaty with the number of people packed into the living room.

“Look over there,” Michael tells him, pointing in the direction of a blonde girl in a princess costume standing by the stairs. “That’s my girlfriend. Been trying to find someone for us to play with tonight. You wanna come home with us, cutie? Have a little fun?”

Harry gulps thickly, struggling to extricate himself from Michael’s grip. Michael just holds him tighter. “Aw, come on. Don’t be like that. I thought you’d be up for it.”

“No - really, I’m just gonna go get a drink -” Harry stammers, face hot. Michael presses a sloppy kiss to Harry’s neck, and he can smell the vodka on his breath. His voice is getting louder and more belligerent, and Harry just wants to leave.

“It’s okay, cutie,” Michael shouts over the music. “I get it. You just need some convincing, right?”

“ _No_ \- please leave me alone, I just wanna -”

Suddenly, Michael’s grip on Harry’s waist loosens and he yelps, holding the top of his head like he’s just been hit or something. Harry doesn’t bother hanging around to see what's happened - he makes a beeline straight for the kitchen. His palms are clammy and his heart's pounding out of his chest, but it’s far quieter in here. There’s only a couple in the corner making out, but they leave with disgusted looks when they see Harry enter.

The lights are on, and there’s a truly impressive amount of alcohol lining the counter. The last thing Harry really wants is a drink, but he needs to calm down; his hands shake as he pours himself a cup of coke. He sits at the kitchen table, trying to think about what he should do next. It makes him feel more lonely and pathetic than ever before, sitting in a silent, empty kitchen while just across the house is a room packed full of people having the best night of their lives. 

Of course, it’d be ideal to leave as soon as possible, but he has no idea where Niall is. And it’s not like he can just take the car and leave without him, because then Niall won’t have a ride home. He considers calling a cab or something, but remembers he’s sadly left his cash at home because he was worried about losing it. Great. Looks like he’ll just have to hide out in here for the duration of the party, freaked out and alone.

 _Call Louis_ , his brain suggests, and he shakes the thought away. He hasn’t had the courage to call him since the Starbucks Incident, even though he's wanted to every night since. Besides, the last thing he cares about right now is getting off. Still, though - it’d be nice to have someone to talk to. And, as dumb as it sounds, he’s comfortable talking with Louis. Try as he might to avoid it, he’s maybe-kinda-sorta still falling in love with him. And not just with the Louis who talks him off so well, but with the person he is besides Daddy. He thinks about him all the time - wonders what Louis has for breakfast, wonders if he’s got any pets, wonders what his favorite book is, wonders if his hair sticks up in the morning when he wakes up, wonders if he wears socks to sleep... and, deep down, he wonders if Louis thinks about him, too.

Maybe it’s because he’s anxious and lonely, or maybe it’s just because he wants to hear someone else’s voice. Either way, he finds himself dialing Louis’ number for the first time in a week. It rings for a long time - so long Harry wonders if it’ll just go to voicemail. Embarrassed tears are already pricking hotly in his eyes, and he feels so _stupid_ , sitting alone in the kitchen at a party he didn’t even want to come to.

He’s about to just hang up and walk home in the dark when he registers the sound of a phone ringing in tandem with the rings on the other line. It’s weird because it sounds like it's getting closer - almost like it’s coming toward him. He furrows his brow and listens harder, trying to figure out where the sound is coming from.

Finally, it gets so loud that he figures it must be someone else getting a drink in the kitchen. He turns around to tell the person to answer their bloody phone so he can get back to his phone call. But he finds, however, that he can’t really speak at all because the person standing at the other end of the kitchen is Louis, holding his ringing phone in his hand.

Harry stares at him, shocked into silence; Louis crosses closer to him, slowly - like he's trying not to spook him. “I - um,” Harry flounders, staring down at Louis’ phone as it stops ringing. He numbly drops his phone to the table.

“You okay?” Louis asks, and the sound of his voice makes Harry’s heart flip excitedly in his chest. “I saw that twat hitting on you,” Louis continues, then shrugs. “I might’ve been too rough, whacking him with a wine corkscrew, but he deserved it for what he was doing to you. Fucking disgusting that he thinks he can be all over you - he’s got no right doing that without your consent.”

Harry stares dumbly from the phone to Louis, only vaguely registering that Louis is dressed as Where’s Waldo - possibly the most endearing costume in the history of the world. Jesus, he’s like his knight in shining - or striped - armor.

“Um. Yeah, ‘m fine now,” He finally says lamely, unable to take his eyes off of Louis.

“Good. I was worried,” Louis adds, pulling out a chair, and Harry tries not to get too overwhelmed at the thought that Louis was worried about him. In the living room, the song switches from some Bruno Mars track to Jackson Browne’s “Somebody’s Baby”.

Louis smiles a little down at his phone, tapping it lightly with his index finger. “Y’know, I recognized you as soon as I heard your voice at work that time.”

Harry blanches, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he’s wearing a stupid, overdone costume while the most important, perfect boy in the universe is sitting across from him.

“I figured you probably didn’t want anything to do with me in real life, so I played dumb,” Louis continues, then shakes his head, laughing a little. “I knew it was you for sure after you said your name was "Niall" when you were buying that tea." He rubs the back of his neck, breaking into a little smile. "There’s only one Niall that goes to this school, and he buys a venti frappuccino from me three times a week.”

Harry flushes red all over, shame and embarrassment licking at the pit of his belly. He's fucked up, just like he always does - clumsy, awkward, pathetic Harry. Jesus, he ruins everything. “I’m - um, I’m sorry, I can just go - I don’t wanna make it awkward --”

He goes to stand up from his chair, but then Louis covers his hand softly with his own.

“No, no, no!” He says urgently, then more softly -

“No. Don’t go.”

Harry swallows thickly and stares at his phone on the table, still lit up with Louis’ contact selected. He hopes he hasn’t seen that he’s saved as “Daddy” followed by every iteration of the heart emoji.

“Harry,” Louis starts, and Harry’s heartbeat picks up at hearing his name in his mouth. “ _I’m_ the one who doesn’t want to make it awkward. It’s not you, like…” He shakes his head, clearly frustrated with how his words are coming out, and Harry’s hesitant smile falters.

“What I’m trying to say is, like…” Louis sighs, covering his eyes with his hands. He’s got glasses on tonight as part of his costume, and Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t find them extremely attractive. “I just... It's gonna sound so _weird_ , and I'm sorry, but..." He sighs again and stares down at the table. "God, I... ilikeyou,” Louis finally gets out in one breath.

Harry’s almost certain that everything from the last few weeks has been part of some elaborate dream or prank or something - there’s no _way_ that Louis likes him. He’s just Harry - clumsy, awkward Harry who can’t flirt to save his life, and who’s dressed as a weird version of a Dracula at this frat party he clearly doesn’t fit into, and Louis is so perfect and beautiful and  _sexy_ \- and so far out of Harry's league that he doesn’t even want to try, and - -

“I like you, too,” He finds himself whispering back with a small smile.

“Like --?” Louis asks, and his eyes look almost... hopeful.

“More than...  _that_ , yeah,” Harry breathes. “More than... just the phone calls.”

Louis’ grin is blinding and brilliant in the best possible way, and his eyes are crinkly at the corners. Harry goes all gooey inside, heart melting into a puddle of love again.

“Oh my god, Harry - I thought it was just me - thought I was so weird for liking you when I don’t even _know_ you, Jesus…” Louis rambles excitedly, doing this adorable thing where he fiddles with the hem of his red and white jumper as he speaks.

He glances over his shoulder toward the packed living room. “Look - um, I know this is a little forward, maybe, but - would you want to go out? With me? Like... Like now? I’ve got tea in my room, we can just talk for a little, maybe.” He grins again, eyes bright and stunningly blue. “Only if you want to, of course. I understand if you don’t,” He adds quickly, and Harry has to resist the urge to lean over and kiss him right here.

“Yeah,” He says softly. “I’d love to, Lou.”

A slow smile spreads across Louis’ face at the nickname. He points at Harry's vampire teeth. "I don't think that's quite the right costume for you, by the way." The corner of his mouth quirks into a shy grin. "You should've gone as an angel." 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the P.O.V. change that occurs in the second part of this chapter! The rest of it is written from Louis' point of view. It's a little collection of smut I wrote, full of fluffy-sweet boyfriends and lots of Daddy Louis. Enjoy! :-)

November passes in a whirlwind of research papers and cuddles, and by Christmas time, Harry and Louis are  _official_  boyfriends - something that nerdy, clumsy Harry never thought he’d ever have. It feels like they go on every type of date in the span of a few weeks - dressed up nice for dinner, board games and wine late at night, cooking and baking at home, watching romantic comedies on the couch. That's not even getting to the sex, mind-blowing and _so_ good. It's like they can't get enough of each other, can't keep their hands off. 

In between kisses and sleepovers, Harry learns that Louis is a third-year student in the drama education department - but he’s actually really, really good at chemistry and maybe wants to teach that, too. He has four siblings back home, all sisters, who he sends sweets to every month. Harry'd actually teared up when he'd told him that one, his heart overflowing with love and adoration.

It's not until they've been dating for almost two months that Harry decides to finally ask about Niall and the phone number. He knows that Louis' worked a side job as a phone sex operator since he first started at uni, but that still doesn't solve the mystery.

They're on the couch back home in Holmes Chapel, tangled up in quilts and each other, and the sounds of Harry's mum baking cookies is echoing down from the kitchen.

"So," Harry starts, knocking his knee lightly against Louis'. He fists his hands in the soft blanket covering them, suddenly almost nervous to know the answers.

Louis smiles a little and turns his gaze from the film to Harry. "What is it, love?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

Louis' face turns serious and he presses his hand to Harry's cheek, thumbing over his cheekbone. Harry nuzzles into his touch. "'Course, anything. You know that, angel."

Harry's heart does a flip in his chest, the way it always does when Louis calls him "angel".

"Back in October. Before we, like... officially met. How did Niall have your phone number in the first place?"

Louis' face splits into a gorgeous grin, and his eyes go all crinkly and lovely. He drops his head into his hand, laughing a little. "Bit of a funny story." 

Harry snuggles closer to him, tucking his head into the crook of Louis' neck. He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Do share."

Louis rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but rubs Harry's upper back and goes on. "Well, I guess you'd find out at some point anyway." He shrugs. "Niall is Zayn's ex." 

Harry's jaw drops in surprise. Zayn and Niall? Bloody hell - he'd believe Niall was shagging _Liam_ before he'd believe Zayn.

"On-again, off-again ex," Louis clarifies. "So Zayn's one of my best mates, y'know - and there was apparently a falling-out one night with Niall, and Zayn took his phone --"

He trails off with an embarrassed grimace, rubbing the back of his neck. Harry pats his tummy impatiently, urging him on. "C'mon, don't stop now!"

Louis pauses to smirk devilishly down at him. "You said the same thing last night."

Harry giggles and shoves weakly at his arm. "Wanker. Keep _going_." 

Louis sighs and touches his chin thoughtfully. "Well... There was one night, right when I first started the gig, and that was when the falling-out happened. I got a call from someone who sounded, like, familiar. I would've maybe thought it was someone playing a joke, but I hadn't told _anyone_ about the job yet, and..."

"And?" Harry presses. 

"And the person on the other line ended up being Zayn, using Niall's phone," Louis confesses, a slight blush rising in his cheeks.

One of Harry's adorably obnoxious witch cackle laughs echos around the basement, and Louis' giggle joins it.

"You can't be serious, Lou," He asks, still grinning. Louis nods, shuddering a little at the memory.

"He obviously had no idea that I'd be the one to pick up - guess he just wanted a wank without Niall, and my boss gave him my number. Luckily we didn't get too far. Don't think he even took off his pants before I realized it was him. Still, though..." He pinches the bridge of his nose and groans inwardly. "Bloody awkward to get past _that_. I wanted to quit and everything."  

Harry turns to press a kiss to his chest, trying not to imagine what it'd be like to accidentally talk your best mate off. "God, 'm sorry. Sounds awful."

Louis cards through his curls. "S'okay, sweetie. Besides, I'm glad I didn't quit. Wouldn't have met you if I had." 

They spend the rest of the night watching films and cuddling, only briefly interrupted to eat too many piping-hot chocolate chip cookies straight from the oven. The following days back at uni start to bleed together, and before they know it, the semester's almost over - just in time for holiday break.

Harry spends most nights in Louis’ dorm, leaving Niall alone (or with Zayn, depending on if they're speaking that week) in their flat. He and Louis will be apart for almost three weeks during Christmas break, so he spends the few days before finals week in bed with him, wishing he could skip class altogether in favor of more... _interesting_ activities.

* * *

"Lou...mm, Lou...”

Louis blinks awake, staring sleepily up at the dim ceiling of his cramped bedroom. A car goes by outside as he groggily comes back to his body. Harry’s tucked around him, curled into his side, fast asleep. Despite the snow falling outside, the thick blankets they’re snuggled under are proving to be quite warm. Harry, however, seems to not care about the heat - wants to be wrapped around him as closely as possible, no matter how sweaty they get.

As much as he complains about sweating through his sheets every night, Louis secretly loves the closeness, too. He can feel Harry's bare skin against him, flushed and pink. He's breathing hard; his chest is rising and falling rapidly. He must be dreaming about something because he’s whining and whimpering softly.

A zip of panic rushes through Louis’ chest as he wonders if Harry’s having a nightmare, but when he slings his arm over his waist to pull him closer, he notices his hips are twitching. He lifts the blankets a little; in the low light, Louis can just make out a dab of pre-come at the tip of his cock, resting half-hard against his hip.

So it’s _that_ kind of dream.

Louis squints up at his window. It’s probably getting close to 8, based on the faint morning light streaming through the blinds, but his alarm hasn’t gone off yet. Won’t be long before they’ll have to face another day of academia and endless boredom - though thankfully, it’s the last full week of classes before Christmas break.

Harry gasps a little in his sleep, moaning softly. “ _Lou_ , oh --”

Louis’ mouth sleepily curls into a grin. Lou, hm? It’s a bit conceited, maybe, but he takes a second to revel in the moment - in the fact that he fucks Harry so well he even _dreams_ about it. “Good boy,” He murmurs as he scratches Harry’s scalp lightly.

Harry stirs a little then, shifting onto his other side so he's facing Louis and pressing himself even closer. When it’s this early, Louis’ brain won’t fully turn on for the next hour at least, but the hard line of Harry’s cock against his leg is something he could recognize anywhere.

The wind picks up outside, but his room is peaceful and silent - save for Harry’s breathless gasps and quiet moans.

Louis peers down at his own cock, half-interested in his briefs. He rubs sleepily at his eye, internally groaning because he knows they won’t have time to fit in a proper fuck before work and school drag them away from each other. Suddenly, Harry outright moans, but he stops in the middle of it as he wakes himself with the noise.

He makes a scared, lost sound, blinking hazily, and Louis gently pulls him down against his chest. “Shhh, I‘m here.”

Harry melts into his warmth, humming quietly in acknowledgement.

“You awake yet, baby?” Louis murmurs after a few seconds. Harry snuggles into him.

“Hard,” He mumbles poutily. Louis laughs, rubbing fondly at his upper back. Harry makes a soft noise and clumsily reaches to palm at Louis’ cock. Louis gently stops his hand.

“Gonna have to get up soon, love. Not enough time.”

Harry whines in the back of his throat. He ruts against Louis’ thigh halfheartedly, asking to rub himself off, but Louis shakes his head. In response, Harry just nuzzles against his shoulder, pouting up at him with doe eyes. “Please?” He murmurs sweetly, and Louis’ resolve breaks almost instantaneously. God, he’s helpless when Harry begs for it.

He sighs around a smile and nudges his thigh against Harry’s cock. “Go on, then.”

Harry makes a happy sound and begins to rub against Louis’ leg - slow at first, then faster until he’s breathing hard. Louis does his best to help him, with the sleep still fogging his head. “What was it this time?” He asks as he stifles a yawn.

Harry groans softly as he grinds on his thigh, remembering whatever dream prompted this. His cock is heavy and fully hard now, leaking at the tip. “Think you were - um - fucking me. Dunno. Had my hands tied behind my back.”

He sounds uncertain, the way he does when he lies, but Louis is too tired to read deeper. “Yeah? Bit kinky for a Monday, isn’t it?”

Harry sighs, but his breath catches in the middle of it as he settles into a faster pace. “ _Ungh_ \-- Right, Monday. What’s on for today?” He pants, his hot morning breath washing over Louis’ neck.

It’s a bit difficult for Louis to remember his academic and work schedule when his fit-as-fuck boyfriend is naked and humping his leg, but somehow he manages. “You have a 9:00 lecture on typography, and I’m helping to teach a recitation at 10:30. Chemistry 110.”

Harry purrs, then leans in to nip playfully at Louis’ neck. “Mm, bend me over your desk, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Louis laughs, then lifts his thigh a little to push up against Harry’s cock. “That’s professor to you.”

Harry gasps at his domineering tone before his body freezes as he comes. He pours hot against Louis’ leg and crotch, making his briefs and his sheets all sticky. Soft gasps and moans fill Louis’ room as Harry collapses, spent, onto Louis’ chest.

“Bloody hell, that was quick,” Louis murmurs, working his thigh against Harry’s length as he rides out his orgasm.

Harry’s breathless, barely down from his high, but he strains to peck Louis’ lips. “Take it as a compliment.”

Like clockwork, his iPhone starts ringing shrilly with the sound of his alarm. He groans and chucks a pillow at it. "Fuck off."

Louis laughs and tugs at his curls. "Go on. You'll be late."

After more than a few minutes of kissing and coaxing, Harry finally gets out of Louis' bed and tugs on the clothes Louis wore the day before. He looks adorable like this - joggers too short and hoodie too tight - but sweet and angelic nonetheless. By this point, the kisses have gone to Louis' head and he's fully hard in his briefs. Tragically, there isn't even time for a messy handjob.

"8:50, Haz," He tells him sleepily, rolling into his front and wincing as the mattress makes contact with his hard-on.

"I know," Harry mumbles through a bite of a granola bar, whirling around to stuff notebooks into his backpack. He leans down to quickly kiss Louis' temple. “Love you.”

“Do you?” Louis groans teasingly. “You’re leaving me alone with morning wood and dirty boxers.”

Harry rolls his eyes and laughs. "I'll pay you back later." With that, he races out the door, blowing a kiss to Louis as he goes. Louis' left to deal with himself with his right hand and Harry's moans bouncing through his head.

* * *

Chemistry recitation ends an entire hour early for Louis after one of the first-year students spills a graduated cylinder full of dilute hydrochloric acid onto his professor’s shoes. It’s a nightmare to clean up, and he ends of sending the whole class home to deal with the mess. By the time he’s filled the last biohazard bag, he’s more than ready to get back to his bed - and to Harry, who’s done with his typography lecture by now.

The snowy trek back to Louis’ flat is actually sort of bearable, mostly because he spends it planning out what he wants to do to Harry. He actually thinks about calling him first, talking him off a little like the old days, but it’s so cold outside that he doesn’t even want to take off his gloves to dial his number.

He’s about to put his key in the lock - still deciding between making Harry come three times in a row, or edging him until he can't hold out any longer - when he hears something behind the door. He listens harder.

Moans. They’re loud and obnoxious - almost exaggerated, and definitely not Harry’s quiet and breathy whines. He presses his ear to the door, eyes narrowing. The sounds are distant and tinny, like they’re coming from...a computer speaker. Bingo.

Louis smirks, intrigued by the fresh possibilities that come along with the idea of catching Harry watching porn, and quietly opens the door. Harry’s sprawled out in Louis’ bed, propped up on one elbow with his laptop open next to him. His brow is furrowed and he’s got one hand down the front of his briefs. Louis shuts and locks the door behind him, silently taking his winter coat off. It takes a second for Harry to notice him, but when he does, he squeaks and slams his laptop shut.

Louis drops his backpack to the floor and steps further into the room. “What’re you doing, baby?” He asks teasingly, leaning against the dresser. Harry’s face is beet red as he shyly pulls his hand out of his briefs.

“Um. Nothing.”

Louis grins wider, then pulls his jumper over his head and tosses it aside. “Nothing?” Harry gulps, eyes roving over Louis’ toned chest, and shakes his head. Louis crawls onto the bed, hovering over Harry. He shoves the laptop away, then leans in to kiss up Harry’s neck. Harry moans softly. He’s flushed and hot; Louis can taste the sweat on his tongue.

Louis slides a hand between their bodies to cup Harry’s cock through his briefs, making an interested noise. “Hm. Only half-hard? Clearly whatever you were watching wasn’t doing it for you.” He bites lightly at Harry’s jaw, pulling a gasp from his lips.

Harry tips his head back. “No - it’s not - it’s not that. S’because it wasn’t - _fuck_ \- wasn’t you.”

Louis smiles to himself, rubbing his cheek against Harry’s shoulder. “Mm. My baby couldn’t get hard without me?”

Harry shakes his head, looking a little embarrassed. Louis presses a chaste kiss to his collarbone. “S’okay, love. Daddy will take care of that for you.”

Harry swallows thickly, a soft whine rising in the back of his throat. Louis hums and slides his hand down the front of Harry’s briefs. He wrinkles his nose a second later when he recognizes the feeling of dried come against his fingertips. “Gross, Haz. Got off again after class?” Louis asks, nosing up his neck.

Harry yawns and stretches his arms above his head. “Yeah. Didn’t bother changing out of them when I figured I’d just make a mess again once you got back.” Louis rolls his eyes, but he's smiling.

“Cheeky boy.” Still, he can’t have his baby wearing dirty boxers all day. He climbs off of him and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning down to sort through the basket of clean laundry on the floor. “Mm. Mr. Service Kink didn’t want to fold these for me?” He teases, grinning over at Harry.

Harry groans and flops onto his stomach, rutting against the mattress a little. “Nope. Not when I have this figure drawing final to finish.”

Louis pinches his hip gently. “Wait for me, love.” Harry stops thrusting against the bed with a disgruntled sigh. A minute passes in comfortable silence as Louis tosses clean t-shirts and sweatpants in the direction of his closet. He pairs a blue sock and a green sock together and chucks them toward his dresser. Finally, the curiosity is too much to bear and he broaches the subject again.

“So. You gonna tell me what exactly you were watching when I came in?” He turns back to find Harry blushing.

“No. No, it’s...it’s weird.” Louis pats Harry’s knee softly.

“C’mon, Haz. You know I’d never make fun of you for something you’re into. I want to help you get off, remember?”

Still, Harry squeaks and buries his face in Louis’ pillow. Louis overturns the laundry basket, sifting through all the unmatched socks for a pair of boxers. “Besides - you know I’m just gonna guess if you don’t tell me.”

Harry covers his face with his hands and peeks at Louis from between his fingers. It’s not like his apprehension is new - Harry’s always shy about his kinks. It’s adorable. Luckily, Louis is particularly good at weaseling them out of him or, when that fails, making an educated guess. He hums thoughtfully, inspecting a hole in the waistband of a pair of shorts.

“What is it? Like...a foot fetish, maybe? You wanna suck my toes or something?”

Harry laughs a little. “No. You have lovely feet, but I don’t want them anywhere near my mouth.”

Louis grins. “Thank god. You know how rank my feet are after choreography class.”

Harry wrinkles his nose at the thought; Louis sticks his tongue out at him. “So no feet. What about...like...like roleplay? Want me to dress up as a sexy nurse - give you a thorough prostate exam?” He wiggles his fingers teasingly for emphasis.

Harry giggles and shakes his head, looking calmer and less embarrassed now. “No, not that either. You’d make a rubbish nurse.”

Louis finally finds a pair of clean briefs (sans holes) at the very bottom of the laundry pile and crawls back over to Harry, tugging the dirty ones off him. He presses a kiss to his bare hip, just to the left of his half-hard cock, then pulls the clean briefs up over it.

“Let’s see...what haven’t I thought of…” He purses his lips, eyes roving down the swell of Harry’s bum. A smirk plays at his lips. “You want me to, like, put you over my knee? Spank you?” He grins, about to laugh it off, when he realizes Harry is silent. One glance reveals that his pupils are blown wide, cheeks even redder than before.

“Oh - _shit_ , Harry. Is that it?”

Harry gulps and buries his face in the pillow again, nodding.

“Oh,” Louis breathes. “You...you want that? You want me to -”

Harry squeaks again, yanking Louis’ blanket up and over his head. Well, Louis definitely can’t have that; he can’t have Harry embarrassed or shy about something he’s into, so Louis shoves aside his own thoughts for a moment and rubs Harry’s upper arm with his thumb.

“Hey,” He whispers, his voice tender and soft. He pulls the blanket away from Harry’s face; Harry’s hands are over his eyes, mouth set in an embarrassed grimace. “Hey, hey, hey,” Louis soothes as he gently pulls his hands away from his face. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, angel. ‘M not here to tease you.”

Harry sighs and gives him a grateful smile. “I know. Sorry, Lou.”

Louis kisses his fingertips. “Don’t have to be sorry about anything.” He leans in to nose up Harry’s neck again, making him laugh.

“Your fringe tickles,” Harry says with a particularly endearing snort, and Louis pulls back to pet his hair.

“D’you think you can you tell me a little more? About what you want?” Harry nuzzles closer to Louis, settling into his arms.

“I, um - I dunno. I guess it’s just, like...a power thing?”

Louis nods, fingers tangling in his curls. “Like about me being in charge?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers. “I think about it all the time. I even _dream_ about it, god --"

"This morning?" Louis asks with raised eyebrows, and Harry nods guiltily. 

"Just, like... Um. I like the idea of you telling me I’m naughty. And... Punishing me, I guess.”

Louis grins wryly down at him. “You always did like it when I called you my naughty baby, didn’t you?”

Harry blushes deeper, and Louis can feel his cock harden through the blankets. He squeezes him lightly through the duvet, and Harry sighs happily. “Gonna take care of this first, yeah? But I wanna do that for you, love. Promise I will.”

A second passes as Louis trails his fingers over his hip, then a thought pops into his head. "That's what you were watching when I came in, wasn't it? The porn - it was spanking, wasn't it?"

Harry reddens, but he nods sheepishly. "Wasn't even a _good_ porno," He grumbles. "Could've been doing my homework."

"Aw," Louis coos. "Poor love."

"In fact..." Harry starts, dimple popping in his cheek. "I think I need _someone_ to distract me from how bad it was."

Louis rolls his eyes teasingly, but tackles him in a full-body hug and starts to press messy kisses to his chest. "Guess that's me, then?" He whispers in his ear.

Harry laughs, the sound ringing through the room like a bell. He tangles his hand in the short hair at the nape of Louis' neck and grins up at him, dimpling again. "Guess that's you." 

* * *

They buy a paddle over Christmas break - a _real_ one, with a heart cut-out that’ll leave pretty marks on Harry’s bum when Louis is done with it. It takes Louis absolute ages to pick it out; he spends practically half the holiday squinting at his laptop late at night, trying to find one that’s good enough for his boy. He finally buys it on Christmas Eve, when his mum and the kids are in bed and he’s meant to be wrapping presents alone in the basement.

Instead, he’s cuddled up to his laptop with a bottle of wine. He’s just paid for expedited shipping when his phone rings; Harry’s goofy contact picture lights up the screen. “Hi, baby. Happy Christmas,” He murmurs into the phone.

“Lou!” Harry giggles, voice unsteady. He’s clearly a bit tipsy - much drunker than he typically gets at the weekends. “I miss you! A lot, um - and I can’t wait to see you again.” Louis cracks a grin because Harry’s so innocent and lovely and, Jesus, he loves him so much. Like, "love" with a capital "L". 

“Miss you too, angel.”

“I was just - I was thinking…”

Louis strains to hear him over the din of the Christmas party in the background. “Speak up, love, it’s a bit noisy.”

“Oh - shit, sorry, Lou - just one second, I’ll…” Louis can hear Harry tripping over his feet as he clumsily climbs a staircase, then a door shuts and locks. The noises of the party are muffled; Harry’s quick breathing is all Louis can hear. “‘Kay. ‘M good now.”

A smile creeps onto Louis’ face at how sweet and youthful Harry sounds when he’s tipsy; his cheeks are probably pink and flushed. Louis loves the way he looks when he’s a little drunk. “Sounds like you’re having fun, sweetie.”

Harry laughs gleefully. “Oh, I am! The best time. Would be better with you, though.” Louis sighs to himself; he feels the same. It’s their first holiday apart - it’s hard for him, too.

He takes a sip of wine. “I’ll see you soon enough, don’t worry. Might even have a present for you.” Harry gasps on the other line.

“A present?” He’s comically shocked, absolutely chuffed at the thought of his boyfriend buying him a Christmas gift.

Louis laughs at his excitement. “Yeah - ‘course, you noodle. What, y’didn’t think I’d get you anything?”

Harry’s voice is shy and demure. “I mean, I’d _hoped_ you would…” He sighs dramatically. “Wish you were here. I could open it now. ”

Louis smirks a little. “It’s not something I really want you opening in front of your nan, love.”

Harry swallows audibly. “Like…?”

“Naughty,” Louis confirms.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry curses softly. “You…?”

“Yeah,” Louis says back. “Got you something special. Just for me and you.” Louis can hear the thud of Harry’ tipping his head back against the wall.

“God, Lou - miss you so much already. Miss your body, _fuck_ -” Harry cuts himself off with a pouty whine, like a petulant child being denied a toy he desperately wants. There’s a charged beat, and a mischievous grin flashes across Louis’ face.

“Now that you mention it… I think I’d quite enjoy talking you off. For old times’ sake, hm? Only if you’d like me to, of course.”

Harry gasps, the sound exaggerated through his tipsy haze. “Yeah? You wanna?”

Louis hums in acknowledgement; they don't get to do this much anymore, now that they see each other so often. They usually prefer the real thing over phone sex. Louis sighs contently, then settles his voice lower and more seductive.

“Did you touch yourself without me, angel?”

Harry exhales softly, an edge of guilt evident in his voice. “Yeah. A few times.”

Louis makes an intrigued noise. “Oh?” He tuts his tongue disapprovingly. “More than once already? We’ve barely been apart for a week, baby.”

Harry swallows hard; his voice is meek and apologetic. “M’sorry - I just missed you, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and - well, y’know…”

Louis settles back against the couch cushions, a smirk playing at his lips as a new idea crosses his mind. “D’you have lube with you, baby?”

There’s the sound of mattress springs squeaking, then a drawer opens and closes.

“Yeah, fuck --”

Louis peers down at the wine in his glass, touching his chin thoughtfully as he considers the possibilities. 

 “Ready,” Harry interrupts him, voice eager and breaking. Knowing Harry, his fingers are already shoved down the back of his jeans, poised right next to his rim.

Louis shushes him. “Slow down, baby. Go slow. What are you wearing?”

Harry swallows thickly, probably thinking about all the other times Louis has asked him that question. “Um...Christmas jumper. It’s got reindeers on - the one with the stripey sleeves. Jeans. Um...socks, one blue and one green. Oh! And reindeer antlers. ‘Cos it’s Christmas.”

Louis hums contently. “Lovely. You sound adorable.” He leans back further in his chair. “Bet you’d look even cuter naked.”

Harry inhales sharply, stifling a whine, and Louis makes a soothing sound. “Aw. Are your jeans getting tight for me, love?”

Harry’s voice is embarrassed, pitiful. “Yeah.”

“S’okay, baby. You can take them off. Just the jeans, though.” He listens as Harry complies, a light thud echoing across the speaker when the jeans hit the floor.

“Done.”

“Good boy.”

Harry sighs happily on the other line. He loves the praise - always has.

“You’re in your room, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes.

“Want you to bend over the mattress for me. Can you do that?”

There’s a rustling of fabric as Harry follows his instructions. His breathing is more hushed now, and Louis can tell he’s already slipping into his submissive headspace.

“Perfect. You’re always so good for me, aren’t you?” Louis murmurs, taking another sip of wine.

“Yeah. For you, Daddy.”

"That's right. Get your fingers all slick for me, okay?” He pictures it as he listens to Harry prep himself, bent over his bed with his curls spread around his head like a halo. Somehow, it’s even hotter because he’s half-clothed - like he’s so desperate that he can’t even be bothered to get fully naked.

Louis doesn’t have the heart to make him wait any longer; he can tell he's absolutely wrecked and probably already petting at his hole. “Perfect, love - that’s perfect. One finger first, yeah? Go slow.”

Harry whines softly, because he’s probably putting two and two together and realizing how Louis is gonna make him come.

“Be gentle at first, yeah? Not too deep."

Harry swallows hard. “Okay, Daddy,” He breathes softly. There’s the sound of labored breathing for a few seconds, then Harry squeaks and moans outright. “Oh - _fuck_ , Daddy --”

“How’s that feel, sweet boy?” Louis purrs, letting his own legs fall open. His hand drops to his lap without him even realizing.

“Um - _so_ good, oh my god --” Harry chokes out, and his voice is muffled like he’s turned his face into the duvet to stifle his moans. “Gotta be quiet, ‘m sorry,” He mumbles.

“Are you hard for me, lovely?” Louis asks, trying to keep him focused on the situation.

“Yeah, Daddy. _Really_ hard,” Harry manages, still breathing fast.

“Good. And do you know how you're meant to come?”

" _Um_ \- fuck. When you tell me to."

Louis palms at himself a little, but continues. "That's right. And d'you know why?" 

Harry swallows thickly. “Um."

Louis makes a disappointed sound. “I think you do, don’t you?”

Harry’s breathing turns shallow and uneven. “I... I got off without telling you. Three times. Three and a half.”

“Three and a half?”

Harry’s sheepish, embarrassed. “Couldn’t come the fourth time. Not without you.”

Louis coos soothingly. “Aw, poor love. I’ll help you with that tonight, hm?” Harry makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. “But only when I tell you, hm? Just use your fingers to play for now, baby. No touching your cock." 

On the other line, Harry moans brokenly at the new rule. “Oh - that’s, um - that’s a lot, Daddy,” He tells him in a small voice.

Louis’ brow furrows in concern; he doesn’t want to push Harry too hard when he’s not physically there to take care of him. “What’s your color, honey?”

“Green,” Harry breathes. “Just, um… Just don’t wanna come early,” He admits, embarrassed.

“Mm, s’okay, love. I know you can hold on for Daddy, yeah? My best boy, always so good for me,” Louis murmurs, knowing the praise always gets Harry out of his own head.

“Okay,” Harry sighs.

Almost ten minutes later, Harry's three fingers deep. He's practically crying with how badly he wants to come, but he's still holding on. Louis is _so_ proud of him - always is. He wishes he was there to see him so desperate for him. Suddenly, he gets an idea, and his mouth quirks up into a smirk.

“Can you send me a picture of you, love? Wanna see how pretty you are for me."

Harry sniffs, whimpering softly in the back of his throat. “Um - yeah. Just a second, Daddy.”

The line goes quiet as Harry takes the photo, then Louis’ phone buzzes with the message notification. He’d been prepared for a half-naked Harry, yeah, but Jesus - he wasn’t prepared for just how wrecked Harry would be. The picture is of Harry lying back on his unmade bed, Christmas jumper rucked up to his armpits and briefs shoved messily down to his knees. His cock’s so hard that it’s pink - wet and drippy with pre-come at the tip.

At the top of the frame, his bitten-red lips are parted in a desperate pout, like he was in the middle of a moan when he took the picture. Knowing Harry, he probably was. Louis slides his hand into his own briefs, stroking himself for a moment. “Gorgeous, angel. You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs into the phone; Harry just chokes out a sob on the other end.

“D'you wanna get off for me, love? Wanna come for Daddy?” He coaxes, and Harry mumbles out a wrecked “ _please_ ”.

"Good. Keep waiting." 

Harry makes a sound of protest, and Louis wraps his hand more tightly around his own cock.

"Shh. Relax, baby," He soothes. "You're my good boy, yeah? And good boys don't come when they're not supposed to?" 

Harry's ragged breathing fills the line until Louis presses him a little with, _"Do they?"_

"No," Harry hurriedly squeaks. "No, no, Daddy. 'M a good boy, I promise."

He gets so nonsensical when he begs - he goes all babbly and innocent. 

"I know you are," Louis murmurs. "Tell me how your fingers feel, darling."

A few minutes later, Harry's erratic breathing breaks into a mess of soft whimpers and needy whines. Louis can tell he's coming on his fingers without permission, trying to stifle his desperate sounds. He imagines his jumper, getting all messy and sticky with come. 

Not ten seconds later, Harry must be barely down from his high, but he's already trying to hide it from Louis - trying to pretend it didn't happen. Louis can always tell - in the crack of his voice, in the catch in his breath. 

"Close?" Louis starts calmly, willing to play along a little. He pulls his cock out of his joggers a bit more and dips his fingers into the pre-come at the head.

"Um - yeah," Harry lies, but there's a clear absence of the usual wet, slick sounds of him touching himself in the background.

"Oh?" Louis asks and quirks an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Harry pants into the phone for a few seconds before he sighs and caves. "Sorry. 'M really sorry, Daddy - didn't mean to, honest. I just --" 

Louis shushes him quietly. God, he wishes he was there with him - he could put a cock ring on him, make him desperate again. Instead, he exhales evenly and take his hand off his own cock.

"Oh, love. What're we gonna do with you, hm?"

Harry swallows audibly. "Um," He breathes, but doesn't add more. 

"It's a shame you're so far away," Louis continues. "I'd _so_ love to bend you over my knee - spank you for being such a naughty baby."

The reaction is instantaneous; Harry makes an absolutely  _ruined_ sound that's choked off a few seconds later by another moan. 

" _Oh_ \- Daddy --" He gets out as the mattress springs squeak in the background.

"Would you like that, darling? You want Daddy to teach you not to be so naughty, hm?"

"Pleasepleaseplease," Harry begs, voice edging on a sob now. "Please, oh my god --"

"So pretty when you beg for me, baby."

After that, the night continues much like an early Christmas present for Louis; he makes Harry come twice more - one of them untouched, with his Christmas socks binding his free hand to his headboard.

Later, after they're both cleaned up and breathing normally, they Facetime for far too long. Both of their rooms fill with hushed whispers as they laugh quietly at each other's jokes to avoid waking their families.

They're looking through Harry's old family photo albums when Harry pulls up a picture of himself, dorky and wearing a Scooby Doo costume. "What about this loser? You still wanna kiss him?"

Louis scoffs and nods. "Yeah, 'course. Kissing, sex, marriage - all of it."

Harry breaks into a breathless grin. "...You'd wanna marry me?"

Louis' heart skips a beat at his slip of the tongue - he hadn't meant to admit that for a long time - but, fuck, the wine is giving him courage. "If you'll have me," He mumbles, suddenly shy. "When we're old and boring and stuff." He smiles to himself. "I've wanted to since I met you, love."

"Oh, Lou..." Harry's grinning so wide that Louis' heart starts to melt in his chest, and he goes all gooey and lovely inside. "You promise?"

"Yeah. Promise," Louis whispers back.

Just then, the grandfather clock strikes midnight, deep chords echoing through Louis' house.

“Happy Christmas, sweetheart. Officially,” Louis tells him in a soft voice. 

"Happy Christmas, Lou." They stare dumbly at each other for a few minutes, lost in love and the warmth of each other's gaze, then Harry adds something with a shy smile.

"I love you. So much that it's sort of ridiculous. Like, more than I love breakfast tea."

Louis teasingly quirks an eyebrow. "No sugar, only milk?"

Harry grins even wider, dimple popping in his cheek. "Of _course_."

God, Louis is the luckiest man in the world. Christmas has brought him Harry Styles - the best gift he ever could've asked for.

"I love you back, angel."

* * *

It's the day after New Year's when they finally see each other again. It's been _ages_ , so Louis wants to be a little dramatic with the gift-giving - sue him. On top of his neatly-made bed is a pink gift bag, overflowing with gossamer layers of cream-colored tissue paper. Harry squeals when he sees it. "Lou!!"

Louis wraps an arm around his waist, cuddling him closer. "For you."

Harry turns his face into his neck and presses a chaste kiss to his neck. "Thank you. I mean it."

Louis laughs, but rubs his back lovingly. "Don't thank me yet. You haven't even opened it."

"I know I'll love it," Harry tells him, teasingly rolling his eyes. He sits down on the bed and starts to pluck out pieces of tissue paper. Finally, he gets to the bottom of the bag; he reaches in and lifts the paddle out, pristine leather shiny in the light. A pink bow is tied through the heart-shaped cutout, and there's a note stuck to it that says " _Love, Daddy xxxxxxx_ "

Harry looks up at Louis with the widest, loveliest grin on his face, and Louis can  _feel_ himself falling even more in love. "You like it?" 

Harry just breathlessly nods, looking between the paddle and Louis. He doesn't stop smiling, and his eyes are a little wet. "It's perfect."

Louis holds out his hand. "You wanna break it in tonight?" He smirks. "I'm curious."

Memories from holiday break come rushing back, and Louis' cock jumps a bit in his jeans at the thought of  _finally_ getting to do this for Harry. It feels like it's been a lifetime since that day he caught him on his laptop in his dorm room.

Harry gnaws at his bottom lip and his eyes start to go glassy. " _Fuck_  - fuck, fuck, fuck," He breathes. 

Louis tuts his tongue, disappointed. "Mm. Naughty words for a naughty boy."

Harry gulps, hips twitching a little. "Please - can you --?"

Louis just wordlessly takes the paddle from him and tests the weight in his hand, slapping his palm experimentally. Harry squeaks out a whimper, and Louis' mouth quirks into a smile. "Don't get too flustered yet, love. You're not even naked."

Mentally running through his research, Louis decides he'll warm Harry up first - go slow. He slaps his palm with the paddle again, and Harry outright  _moans_  this time, and Jesus, Louis can't have the door unlocked if they're gonna do this. 

He quickly locks the deadbolt, then deftly unties the ribbon on the paddle and drops it to the floor. He turns back to Harry with a teasing expression on his face. He's thought about this for weeks - how he wants to do it, where he wants it to happen, how he wants to make Harry feel. With a satisfied sigh, he turns to sit on his couch, spreading his legs open in a position that _oozes_ dominance. 

"C'mere, love. Sit in Daddy's lap, yeah?" 

Harry swallows roughly and stands unsteadily, keeping his eyes cast down as he makes his way to Louis. His cheeks are flushed and his breathing's already labored; his cock's straining obscenely against his zipper, too.

Louis lets himself luxuriate in the familiar feeling of Harry's weight against him. Harry's come so far with this whole thing - embracing and celebrating parts of himself that he'd only ever been told to hide away and be ashamed of. Louis remembers how nervous and anxious he used to be about calling him "Daddy", and now it's the easiest, most natural thing in the world. Like breathing, practically.

He trails his free hand gently up Harry's spine, touching his shoulder blades through his t-shirt. Then, he brushes his curls away from his neck and leans in to press an open-mouthed kiss to the flushed skin there.

Harry whines and shudders, jolting a little on Louis' lap.

"Shh," Louis soothes him, continuing a line of gentle kisses down to his shoulder. "Gonna take care of you, love." 

Harry just gulps and nods, like he's already too wrecked to even say anything. Louis wraps his hand more tightly around the handle of the paddle again, feeling the way the leather gives a little under his fingers. He mentally pats his past self on the back for splurging on the real leather, imagining how the buttery softness might feel against Harry's bum.

"Bend over," He starts, and his voice is lower than he'd expected it to be. Harry clearly picks up on the shift in dynamic; he scrambles out of Louis' lap and rushes to lean over his thighs, hands squeezing tentatively at the couch cushions. 

"There we are," Louis purrs. "That's my good boy. Perfect." He pets a little at Harry's thighs, massaging them through his jeans. 

"Tell Daddy why you're getting spanked, yeah?" Louis continues calmly. Harry squirms against his lap, and he can feel how _hard_ he is - he must've been packing that since he first opened the paddle, Jesus. 

"Um," Harry starts, voice breaking. "I, um. I came without asking."

Louis tuts his tongue. "That wasn't very good of you, was it?"

Harry sniffs and shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the floor. "No. 'M sorry."

Louis squeezes his hip fondly. "S'okay, love." He thumbs lightly over his love handle. "Gonna give you fifteen to start. How does that sound?"

Harry groans in response and eagerly pushes his bum up. " _Please_."

Louis turns the paddle over in his hand, testing the weight again. In a few minutes, he's going to be a Person Who Has Spanked Harry Styles, and he frankly doesn't know how to handle that knowledge in a rational way.

He raises the paddle slowly, then brings it down against Harry's clothed upper thigh with a muted slap.

"Ah --" Harry cries out, grinding down against Louis' lap. It's immediately clear that he _loves_ this, writhing and whining. " _More_ , please --"

Louis pets gently at the affected area, drawing the most lovely desperate whimpers from Harry. Then, he switches to the other thigh and delivers the second blow there.

"God -  _fuck_ \-- Love it so much, I love you - oh my god, Daddy..." Harry babbles incoherently. "Green, green, green," He mumbles as he turns his face into the couch cushions.

They get to five, Harry growing more and more desperate by the second. Louis pauses to yank Harry's jeans down to expose his bare bum; he's not wearing pants under his jeans, because _of course_ he's not. There's a sticky, wet spot behind the zip where his cock has leaked onto the denim, and Louis resists the urge to stare at it. He focuses his attention instead on Harry, who seems to be intent on grinding against Louis' thigh. 

"Slow down, love. Still ten more to give you, remember?" 

Harry sucks in a shaky breath through his teeth and wills himself to stop rolling his hips down. It seems like it takes a gargantuan effort, but he manages to stop.

"Green," He grits out, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed pink. 

Louis brings the paddle down on the left half of his bum, watching in awe as it immediately raises a heart-shaped welt. Harry's moan gets lost somewhere in his throat and comes out as a squeak. Louis experimentally mixes up the pacing for the next few spanks, deciding not to give him time to recover between blows. Harry responds to it  _beautifully_ , squirming in Louis' lap and arching his back with each spank. 

He's babbling desperately, loud enough to bleed through the thin walls, so Louis has to help him slide two of his own fingers into his mouth to keep himself quiet. 

"Mmph," Harry whines against his fingers, eyes fluttering shut as Louis delivers a spank on the center of his bum. 

It seems like he's making up for coming without permission, because now he's stubbornly hanging onto the edge with white knuckles, despite the fact that his cock is so hard that it's standing out from his belly a little. It must be torture for him to keep it together, given the way his cock rubs against Louis' thigh with every spank. 

With two spanks remaining, Louis can practically  _see_ subspace approaching in Harry's eyes, misty and fuzzy as he tumbles toward the brink.

"Okay, love?" He purrs.

Harry nods with a sleepy half-lidded grin. "Green. _Green_ , Daddy."

"Good boy," Louis murmurs.

The last two spanks land on the right half of his bum, pushing Harry completely and truly into subspace. Louis sets the paddle down on the couch and watches him freefall into ecstasy. He's totally blissed-out and pliant as Louis helps him off of his lap and onto his back in bed. 

He's still sucking his fingers with bitten-pink lips, and his curls are sweaty and matted against his forehead. _Like an angel_ , Louis thinks to himself.  

"Beautiful, darling. My baby, my baby," He whispers soothingly and presses a small kiss to Harry's hip. Harry's cock is impossibly hard by this point, dripping steady beads of pre-come onto his tummy.

His brow knits together as he sucks his fingers harder. "Come?" He manages in a sleepy innocent voice, lashes fluttering. 

"Yeah," Louis tells him, and he doesn't think he could love him more if he tried. "You can come now, baby."

He's about to reach up and start to gently jerk him off, but he stops when he realizes that Harry's trying to get himself off without even being _touched_ , Jesus --

Harry's brow furrows even more and he drools a little around his fingers; his throat works as he sucks his fingers deeper. His hips twitch in the sheets for a few seconds before a desperate gasp falls from his parted lips, and he freezes as his cock starts to pulse sticky ribbons onto his belly and chest. Given his usual whimpers and needy whines, he's remarkably quiet as he lets go - the soft sounds stifled by his fingers in his mouth. He sighs dreamily when it finally stops, and his fingers fall from his lips with a slick pop.

Louis is ridiculously hard in his jeans now, _aching_ to get off - but tonight is about Harry, about keeping him safe and making sure he's comfortable with this new thing. So he just hesitantly presses a hand to his knee, knowing that too much touch sometimes overwhelms him when he's mired in subspace. 

"Daddy," Harry sighs, biting a little at his lip. Louis rubs his knee lovingly with his thumb. 

"Here, love. Right here." 

"Cuddle," Harry whispers, and Louis happily crawls onto the bed behind him, fitting himself against him. 

"Mm. Thank you," Harry murmurs sleepily, practically slurring the words. 

Louis just presses a gentle kiss to his shoulder, wordlessly telling him, _I'd do anything for you, you know that?_

After Harry's back down to earth, they spend the whole rest of the evening luxuriating in aftercare - spending far too long in the shower together, rubbing lotion into Harry's pretty heart-shaped bruises, eating strawberries and pretzels in bed, and cuddling in between. 

"Wanna do this again," Harry mumbles in his ear when they're squeezed into Louis' bed and settled under their thick blankets.

Louis kisses his cheek. "Sure, love. When?" 

Harry smiles fondly, like he's reminiscing on the new memory. "Never wanna stop doing it."

Louis laughs quietly. "Easy, tiger. Sleep now, yeah? We can talk about it tomorrow, okay?"

"Mm." 

A few seconds of comfortable silence later, then -

"Lou?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you. For, like... For everything. All of it. For not hanging up when Niall told you my name was Harry-Andrew. For paying for my tea. For hitting that guy at the party with a wine corkscrew. For, like... For everything."

Louis makes a soft sound and cuddles him closer, wrapping an arm more tightly around his waist. "You just saying that because you got off?" He teases, and Harry shakes his head.

"No. I just... I love you. And I wanna tell you all the time."

Louis' heart melts in his chest again, because Harry's the sweetest and loveliest thing in the whole world, and he can't believe he's lucky enough to even _know_ him - let alone be his boyfriend. "Angel," He sighs happily. "I adore you, sweetheart. Wanna tell _you_ all the time." 

Harry yawns and nuzzles back against his chest. "Good. The feeling's mutual, then?"

Louis nods into his curls, the aches of the day ebbing away into nothingness as he melts into Harry's warmth.

"Mutual," He confirms with a soft smile. "We've discussed it." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, thanks so much for reading this far! hope you liked this, I had a lot of fun writing it - especially the sappy-sweet love declarations - I couldn't help myself! "mutual, we've discussed it" was RIGHT THERE, haha. what can I say? I'm a sucker for a domestic, sweet holiday fic :-) As I mentioned at the start, this was my first time writing for a fest and writing a longer fic -  
> I'm so happy that I finished it!! once I'm revealed as the author, I'd love for you to check out my other works if you enjoyed this one! :-) I write primarily PWP, lots of kinks, but mostly Dom/Daddy Louis and Sub Harry. I post often and take requests! leave me a comment or kudos if you liked this - your support means the world to me! :-) be nice, be good!


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